The Things You Don't Know
by justshinex
Summary: Mudblood. She's an insufferable, stuck-up, know-it-all Mudblood, but damn it, she's his. She just doesn't know it yet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my very first fic that I'm writing and I'm super excited! I've been shipping Dramione for a while now and this idea just popped into my head. Story is pretty self-explanatory in the summary, but just an fyi, the timeline is in HBP, and it goes with the story. This first part is just the prologue of how they met. I think it's cute!

Anyways, I hope you guys like it, and also review if you can? :)

**6 years before present day**

**September 1****st**** – King's Cross Station**

Hermione Granger stood on the edge of Platform 9¾ feeling oddly confused. It was her first _real_ time interacting with…wizards and witches (the idea still seemed strange to her), and the experience was way too overwhelming. She felt completely out of place standing on the platform by herself wearing her…what was it called…oh yes…_Muggle_ clothing.

It was a shame that neither of her parents could make it this morning – both had to attend a _very_ important dentists' convention. It had something to do with a life-changing procedure and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Hermione understood. But as she stood amongst the crowds of people, she wished that there was someone – _anyone_ – that could help her. Truth be told, she was hopelessly lost.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a young boy, maybe her age, standing by his lonesome too. Deciding that actually getting to the school on time was more important than her nerves, she approached the boy shyly.

"Hi," she squeaked when she got to an audible distance.

The boy, blonde haired and greyed eye, turned to Hermione and frowned. "Hi."

Hermione shifted nervously in her spot, her knuckles turning white from the death grip that she had on her trolley. "I was wondering if you could h-help me. I'm a bit lost…"

"Oh," said the boy, looking a bit taken back. "Is this your first time here?"

Hermione only managed a small nod before staring at her feet again.

_How embarrassing!_

She knew she should have paid more attention when Professor Dumbledore was talking to her about September 1st. Instead, throughout the length of their conversation, she had been working hard at mastering her magic abilities. This was her chance to do something extraordinary and she was going to do it right.

Sensing her nervousness, the blonde piped up again. "Don't worry. Father says that the train comes at 11 o'clock sharp, and there's only a few minutes left."

"Oh," Hermione replied, glancing at the clock. The boy was right; there were only a few minutes left before 11. After a few silent seconds, she turned to the boy and asked, "Where is your father?"

Hermione didn't know if it was here eyes playing tricks on her, or if it actually happened, but she could've sworn she saw the boy stiffened with anger.

"He and my mother had…previous commitments," he said angrily.

"Oh," was all Hermione could say again.

Thankfully, a loud blare, signalling the arrival of the train vibrated through the air and ended the awkward atmosphere that was settling between the pair. When the train came to a complete stop, Hermione saw the blonde haired boy heading for one of the doors. He climbed up a step and turned back to look at her.

"Well," he said. "Come on, now."

Scared of being left alone, Hermione quickly followed into the train. Because many of the other students were still saying goodbye to their family, her and the boy were one of the only people already wandering down the corridor. Hermione trailed behind him, careful not to get lost, and slipped into the compartment he had chosen.

She watched in awe as he flopped down onto the seat, comparing his nonchalance with her own stiff posture. The comparison seemed so ridiculous to her that she allowed herself to relax with comfort.

The boy smirked at her unease. "So, what's your name?"

Hermione felt flustered. The boy was kind of _cute_, not to mention the mischievous glint in his silver-coloured eyes. "H-Hermione," she replied, barely able to say it out loud. "Hermione Granger."

"Granger? That's an odd wizarding name."

Confused, Hermione cocked her head to the side.

"I guess you must be foreign or something the," the boy continued. "No matter. I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, putting on her biggest smile.

Draco's smirk grew bigger and he sat upright, leaning against the window for support. The light of the sun shone through the window and reflected off his hair so magnificently that they almost looked transparent. Hermione had never seen someone with such a naturally neat head of hair before – or maybe she was just blinded by the unruliness of her own mane.

"It's my first year too," Draco told her proudly.

Hermione nodded, thinking of how lucky she was to find someone like her on the first day. Maybe they could be friends, and she wouldn't be alone for long.

"Have you already thought about which house you want to be sorted into?" he asked.

"Uh, not really," Hermione admitted.

She had read all about the school, Hogwarts, in the book _Hogwarts: a History_ but never really thought about which of the four houses she could be sorted into. To her, they all seemed the same and all she wanted was to make some new friends and of course learn, learn and learn.

Draco regarded her with a quizzical expression. "Well, _I _want to be in Slytherin. Everyone knows that's the best house."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "I read that the other houses are pretty good too."

"The other houses?" Draco scoffed. "You can't be serious. Are you telling me that those spineless Hufflepuffs, brainy Ravenclaws and stupid Gryffindors are pretty good?"

"Uh…"

Their conversation was interrupted by a tap on the glass door of the train compartment.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Thinking back to how she didn't get enough Galleons because her parents couldn't work out the money exchange system, Hermione shook her head. Draco, however, pulled out a big bag filled with coins and started picking things off the cart.

When he sat back down, he laid the bunch of treats next to him and handed Hermione a Chocolate Frog. "Want?"

Hermione shook her head. She wasn't going to eat something that she hasn't before and make an even bigger fool of herself.

Draco shrugged and opened a box of jellybeans, stuffing a few into his mouth. "You really must be bonkers. My family has been in Slytherin for _centuries_ and you can take my word for it that it's the best house. Were your parents in Slytherin?"

"Uh…I don't know," Hermione said. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not she should tell Draco that her parents had never even heard of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until she got the letter a few months ago.

"You don't know?" Draco repeated confusedly.

"We don't talk about it much." Hermione squirmed, unable to look at the blonde who was now watching her intently.

"Huh. Strange parents. Well, what do they do? Father's a school governor at Hogwarts, quite an important job, if you ask me."

"My parents?" Hermione thought for a second. A dentist isn't such an unusual job. Wizard or no wizard, everyone needs their teeth fixed once in a while, right? "They're dentists."

Draco made a face. "Dentists? What on earth are those?"

_Uh oh, wrong play Hermione_.

"They're people who fix your teeth," she replied, hoping he'd understand.

"Isn't that some sort of Muggle job?"

"Yes but—

"What do wizards need Muggle jobs for? Even blood-traitors like those filthy Weasleys don't have – wait. You're parents aren't Muggles, are they?"

The way he said it made Hermione self-conscious. It was almost as if there was something _wrong_ with being Muggles. She remembered how Professor Dumbledore had said that it was perfectly natural – and common – for kids without magic parents to be witches or wizards and that there was nothing wrong with her. Had he lied?

When Hermione didn't reply, realization dawned on Draco's face.

"You're a Muggle-born. Your parents…they aren't magic, are they?"

Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at her. The way he made her feel by saying that…she felt _so much_ more out of place than she had before. "That's okay, isn't it?"

The look on Draco's face proved her guess – it _wasn't_ okay. At least, to him it wasn't okay. But the answer he delivered baffled her.

"Yeah, it's okay."

Feeling as if a great weight has been lifted off her chest, Hermione looked up and offered a small smile. Draco smiled his lopsided grin in return. They two sat in silence for a while, each looking out the window, thinking their own thoughts – Hermione, about how maybe Hogwarts would be better than she expected and Draco, about how maybe his father was wrong about Muggle-borns. Neither of them noticed when the door slid open and two more students walked in. The girl sat beside Draco, while the boy gave Hermione an appraising look and then decided to sit in the empty seat beside her.

"Draco! We've been looking everywhere for you. My mum wanted to say goodbye to you before the train left," the dark-haired girl said, tugging on Draco's sleeve.

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "You can send her my regards when the owl posts arrive at Hogwarts."

The dark-skinned boy beside Hermione paid no attention to their exchange and turned to Hermione instead. "Who're you?"

"That's Hermione Granger," Draco replied. "She's a first-year too."

Hermione didn't fail to notice how he left out the part about her parents being Muggles.

"Oh, really? Maybe we can be friends. But only if you're in Slytherin, okay?" the boy said, winking at her.

She grimaced and Draco laughed nervously. At that moment, the sliding door opened again and a chubby face poked through the sliver.

"Has anyone seen a frog?"

The train compartment remained silent as the four kids stared at him.

"What does it look like?" Hermione blurted out, earning peculiar glances from the boy and the girl and a troubled look from Draco.

"Well, his name's Trevor…"

Out of impulse, Hermione stood up abruptly. "I'll help you look."

As she reached the door, she realized that none of the others got up and offered help. When she turned around, she found that all three of them were staring at her.

"I guess I'll see you when we get to Hogwarts, then," she said, looking at Draco.

She wished that he would get up and say that he would help too, but that seemed very unlikely. True to her word, Draco nodded and went back to looking out the window.

Following Neville down the corridor, Hermione scanned her surroundings for any sign of a frog, occasionally stopping at compartments and looking in. The more she walked, the more frustrated she got. There were too many things confusing her, like Draco's reaction to her being a _Muggle-born_ and his hesitation to help Neville. It doesn't hurt, being helpful, does it?

By the time she neared the end of the train, Hermione was too confused and upset to think properly. Without meaning to, she slid open the next door harder than she expected.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she asked, rather haughtily.

The two boys sitting in the section turned to look at her in surprise.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," the red headed boy replied, his wand quivering in mid-air.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" Hermione asked, staring at his wand. Maybe if she proved herself capable of doing magic just like any other kids on this train, she wouldn't get the same reaction for being a Muggle-born from everyone else. "Let's see it then."

Taking a seat next to the boy, Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"Er, all right," he said, clearing his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

They waited a while, but nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione asked. Even she could do better than that. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practise and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She let it all out in a rush, waiting for their reaction. To her surprise – and delight – neither of them cringed when she had said that nobody in her family was magic, but they both did have a very stunned expression on their faces. Maybe they were impressed.

"I'm Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy replied.

Hermione remember Draco saying something about the Weasley family being blood-traitors, but she couldn't be sure if he was talking about the same person. Then again, she had no idea what blood-traitor meant in the first place.

"Harry Potter," said the other boy.

"Are you really?" gasped Hermione. "I know all about you, of course, I got a few extra books for background reading and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I," replied Harry, less excited than Hermione had hoped. She hoped that maybe that would've struck some common ground between her and the two boys, and maybe they could be friends.

_Well, I'm not very good at making friends today_,_ now am I_, she thought glumly to herself.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it were me," she said. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad." She didn't mention Slytherin because as she found out, many kids weren't so fond of the house. "Anyways, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

With a curt nod, Hermione turned and walked out of the compartment. She didn't know what had gotten into her. She had never sounded so arrogant or intellectual before in her life, but when she was in there, she had this dying urge to prove herself. It was easier than she had expected and most of the kids weren't as well read as she was, so what was the problem? It seemed to her like she couldn't be a bad wizard without being judged, or a good wizard without being judged. And that whole thing with Gryffindor…true it sounded like a spectacular house, but like she said before, they all sounded the same and she couldn't fight that little nagging wish inside of her to be in Slytherin as well.

"Hermione?" called Neville, a few feet away. "Are you coming?"

Shaking her head, and dumping her thoughts, she grudgingly followed Neville down the rest of the corridor.

Maybe Neville could be her friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! I know it's not _too_ interesting yet, but bear with me. The best is yet to come. A****nd also, thanks for reading and reviewing! I never thought anyone was going to read this, haha. to those who reviewed this:**

**Kawaii514 **- thanks! and yeah, draco's nice side is really sweet! he should let it out more often :)

**Lingo10 - **thank you! they're going to have a very complicated relationship, lol :D

**Anyways, happy reading! **

* * *

><p><strong>September 19<strong>**th**** – Hogwarts, 6****th**** year**

Hermione stepped out of the library and sighed deeply. Another night of peace and quiet salvaged by avoiding her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and heading to the library straight after dinner. Don't get her wrong, she was quite fond of both of them, and for years maybe even developed romantic feelings towards Ron (as weird as it sounds to her) but it seems over the past few weeks, all they could ever talk about was Quidditch. Frankly, she was getting pretty tired of all the talks about who's to play on the new team now that Harry was captain and any new game plans.

The hallways of the castle were nearly empty by now, with the exception of the Prefects and some students huddled in dark corners doing god knows what. Hermione knew that the time wasn't past curfew yet, so she took her time walking, enjoying the emptiness before she had to go back into the Gryffindor common room, which at this time would definitely be full of students—and noise. Even though it was just the start of the school year, she couldn't wait to jump into the pile of books waiting for her in her dorm and the thick book on potions that she was holding in her arms right now.

Turning a corner, Hermione was nearly at her common room portrait when she heard a small sob escaping a broom closet a few feet away. Out of curiosity, she walked over to the closet door and slowly reached out to the door knob. She paused for a few seconds, making sure that the small cry wasn't a figment of her imagination. When a second cry broke out, she tentatively opened the door and stuck a small head inside.

Inside the closet was dark and parts of black littered the room due to shadows and lack of light. Pulling out her wand, Hermione quickly muttered "Lumos" before shutting the door.

To her surprise, Hannah Abbott was sitting, huddle in the corner with her head buried in her knees. The Hufflepuff girl didn't seem to acknowledge Hermione's presence and continued to sob relentlessly.

"Hannah?" said Hermione cautiously, taking a few steps towards her.

Raising her head slightly, Hannah glanced at Hermione. "Hermione? What're you doing in here?"

"I heard somebody crying so I came in to check what was wrong," Hermione replied, not knowing how to handle the situation. She had never dealt with crying girls before since she always found girls who got their hearts broken weak and unbearable. That was one of the main reasons why her best girlfriend was Ginny Weasley, Ron's confident and bright sister. Ginny was the one who hardly ever came to Hermione for boy problems, other than her major crush on Harry a few years back, mainly because she handled her relationships just fine. Although Hermione had not known it during the first few years of their friendship, Ginny was quiet a charmer and if anything, Hermione would be going to her for boy troubles instead of the other way around.

After a few seconds of silence from both of the girls, Hermione walked closer to Hannah. "What's wrong?"

Hannah wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe. "N-nothing. I'm fine."

Hermione looked at the blonde sceptically. "You don't look _or_ sound fine. Really, Hannah, what's bothering you?"

Hannah stared down at her hands for a few seconds, as if contemplating on whether she should spill a secret. Finally, she sighed and said, "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Promise," said Hermione almost immediately.

"Okay, good."

Hermione waited patiently for Hannah to start on her own. Hannah already agreed to let Hermione know what was wrong, so there was really no point in forcing anything out. Sure enough, Hannah sighed again and began talking.

"Okay, you don't know this…well, no one really knows this but I've been secretly um – seeing someone."

"Oh!" gasped Hermione in surprise. If Hannah's problem ended with her heart broken, Hermione wouldn't know how to handle the situation.

"Please don't judge me when you hear this but it was with D-Draco."

"Draco?"

Hannah nodded shyly.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "You mean Draco, as in Draco Malfoy?"

"That's the one," replied the Hufflepuff rather coldly.

Deciding that she might be acting a bit too judgemental, Hermione bit her tongue and looked at Hannah, urging her to continue.

"It started on the second day back. I was on my way to the greenhouses – you know how I love Herbology – when I saw him. He was just leaning against the wall, not moving with his eyes closed, and I just felt like I had to approach him. He didn't even insult me for being a _useless Hufflepuff_ that time. He just told me to leave. He looked so sad and when I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn't tell me but I could definitely see that he was upset. So then I – I, um, took his hand and told him maybe I could help take his mind off of whatever was bothering him."

Hermione's jaw nearly dropped to the floor, but she kept herself composed, only revealing her true reaction through the slight widening of her eyes. It was definitely a surprise to hear that Hannah, or anyone actually, to act like that towards Malfoy. The thought hadn't occurred to her before, but, maybe not everyone hated him as much as her, Harry and Ron did.

"And one thing kind of led to another and…"

"You mean you and Malfoy actually…." Hermione couldn't contain her surprise.

Hannah nodded, her eyes dazed. It seemed like she was in another world, perhaps revisiting a time when her and the Slytherin were together.

"But Hannah, you _know_ you'd get in trouble if you were ever caught snogging someone in the corridors, especially hiding away past curfew."

Despite her obvious foul mood, Hannah snorted. "_Snogging_? Honestly Hermione, we're not first or second years anymore." Catching the deep blush that was forming in the Gryffindor girl's face, she continued. "You know what we did."

Hermione felt awkward in her place. She had never really discussed anything of this sort. The furthest she had gone was talking to Ginny about how it felt to snog Viktor Krum and how Ginny felt when she was with Dean Thomas or Michael Corner.

Noticing that Hannah was staring with an odd expression, Hermione cleared her throat. "Right then, go on."

"Okay. Um, well, that one time led to another and to another and oh, I just couldn't help myself. You know how I've always found him attractive and –"

Her sentence was cut short by Hermione's choke for air. "Attractive? You find Draco Malfoy _attractive_?"

For the second time, Hannah snorted. "You know, for the smartest witch in our year, you're pretty dense. A lot of girls are pining for him, and not just the Slytherin ones."

_That's likely_, thought Hermione sarcastically, but she didn't push the subject.

"So…what happened?" she asked instead.

"He ended it."

"He _what_?"

"Tonight. He told me. He didn't want to do this anymore."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She couldn't possibly imagine being treated like how Hannah was by Malfoy – used and tossed away. Who knows how many girls suffered the same fate?

"And the thing is, I knew," Hannah sniffled. "I knew that it meant nothing to him and I didn't do anything about it."

"Well, that is downright disgusting," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself and she knew she had said the wrong thing.

Hannah stiffened. "I think I'd like to be alone now."

"Oh, Hannah, I didn't mean you. I meant –"

"Just go."

Without another word, Hermione straightened up and silently wandered to the door. Before she opened, Hannah called her back.

"Hey," the girl said from the corner of the closet. "Don't tell anyone."

Disappointed Hannah hadn't told her to come back, Hermione nodded once and muttered, "I won't" and closed the door softly behind her.

The more she walked and thought about it, the more the recent scenario angered her. She was just trying to _help_ and Hannah just dumped her out like that. How ungrateful. _And_ to think that Hannah actually called her _dense_. Hermione may be a lot of things but she certainly is not dense.

As she expected, the Gryffindor common room was full of noise when she walked in, most coming from experimentations of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products, made by no other than Fred and George Weasley. Usually, this would enlighten her, but after he encounter with Hannah, Hermione was in no mood for any fun.

Trudging up the stairs to her dorm, she heard Ron call after her.

"Hermione!"

After a few more calls, the red-haired boy finally caught up to her.

"I'm not dense, am I?" Hermione asked angrily, still mulling over what Hannah had said.

Ron looked a bit taken back. "I – uh, no, of course not! You know what everyone says about you. You're the brightest witch of our age!"

Hermione smirked. "Good."

With that, she turned promptly and continued to her dorm, leaving behind a baffled Ron. It wasn't until she closed the door and flopped onto her 4-poster bed that she realized how close her and Ron actually were. Normally, it would've left her flushed and feeling fluttery, but not tonight. Perhaps things have changed…

_No_, she shook her head silently. _I've been in love with Ron forever_.

The day's hard work and studies finally caught up with her and Hermione fell asleep reminding herself that she wasn't dense one bit.

* * *

><p>When morning came, Hermione woke up earlier than the rest of the girls she was sharing a room with. Careful not to wake any of them up (Pavarti always threw a fit whenever she was up earlier than she had to be), Hermione slipped out of the room and headed for the Great Hall for breakfast and then a quick read in the library.<p>

Just as she rounded a corner, she ran right into someone, causing her to fall over and spill her books. There was a flash of long blonde hair, a soft swish of fabric and Hermione felt her books thrust into her arms.

"S-sorry," came a mutter softer than a whisper, followed by fading footsteps.

Wiping the dust off her robes, Hermione sighed crossly. Hopefully none of her books were ruined. She turned back to see who the culprit was, and to her surprise, it was Hannah, running like there was no tomorrow away from the Great Hall.

She couldn't still be angry, could she? Aren't Hufflepuffs supposed to be loyal and non-judgement? That meant no grudges, right?

It wasn't as if Hermione has said something _wrong_. In fact, she felt quite right, calling Malfoy disgusting – it's what he is. Shaking her head, Hermione pushed the doors of the Great Hall open and immediately discovered what the source of Hannah's heartbreak was – Draco Malfoy, sitting as his house table, openly kissing another girl like he didn't have any shame! Granted, it was rather early, especially for a Saturday and the Great Hall wasn't exactly bustling with life, but _still_. And the girl, Slytherin, Hermione assumed, couldn't have looked to be more than a 4th year. Hermione could only guess what Hannah must've felt.

Suddenly feeling blinded by rage, Hermione stalked over to the couple and grabbed her wand.

"_Furnunculus_!"

Hit by the curse, Malfoy jumped into the air and landed on his back.

"What the bloody –"

He was cut off by a hair-raising shriek from the Slytherin girl, who Hermione recognized as Astoria Greengrass.

"Oh, shut up. What are you screaming about?" Malfoy snapped, pushing himself up from the ground.

"Draco, your face. Oh, _Merlin_, your face!" blubbered Astoria.

It couldn't have been a funnier sight, Malfoy scowling angrily, not noticing the tiny red dots appearing on his face, and Astoria sobbing loudly, noticing the dots all too well. Hermione almost laughed.

"What about my face? Ugh, _accio mirror_!"

A mirror flew out of Astoria's book bag and into Malfoy's hand. He took one glance at it then stood up furiously, taking 3 quick strides before reaching Hermione.

"You cursed me!" he said, staring down at her with a menacing expression.

Hermione smirked, her eyes wandering across his face. "Looks like I did a pretty good job too."

Malfoy looked enraged. His face was pulled into a taut frown and it seemed as though he was using all his energy not to hit her.

"You worthless, filthy, little –"

"Mudlood," finished Astoria, rushing to Malfoy's side and clutched his arm. She had a smug expression on your face.

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, I'm dirty and cheap. Isn't that how you like all your women?"

She allowed her eyes to stray to Astoria for a quick second before turning back to Malfoy. She didn't miss the sour expression Astoria had on her face. Serves her right.

"Get – out – of – my – face – _now_!" he hissed.

"Aren't you going to ask me how to get rid of it?"

"Madam Pomfrey will fix it," said Malfoy sneeringly. "I don't need a Mudblood's help."

Hermione rolled her eyes. The Mudblood insult was getting old. How many times had he called her that? Countless. It has gotten to a point where she could hear it in a conversation and not even turn her head. Sticks and stones can break bones, but she doesn't give a Merlin's beard what Malfoy says to her anymore.

"If you think Madam Pomfrey can fix that, by all means, go right ahead," she replied and promptly turned around to the Gryffindor table.

A hand grabbed her and jerked her around before she even took her 3rd step.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Malfoy.

"Not everything I say has to have a meaning you know," said Hermione impatiently. Students were already filing into the hall and she was getting hungry. It surprised her that Malfoy was completely disregarding the fact that people could see his boil-covered face in plain view and that many of them were laughing.

Malfoy's hand tugged Hermione closer until she was almost pressed up again him.

"Don't think I've forgotten what you did to Marietta last year. I know what you're capable of," he whispered threateningly against her ear.

Hermione shouldered him in the chest and took a step back but was unable to break free from his grip. She wasn't going to let his foul attitude ruin another one of her days. So, instead of turning hot with anger, she smiled passively.

"Is that almost a compliment?" she said calmly.

He blinked twice.

"Madam Pomfrey _will_ fix your little…problem, so don't get your knickers in a twist. But I'm not saying that you won't have any after-effects," continued Hermione, thoroughly enjoying herself now. She never knew it was this fun to pull Malfoy's strings; it had always been the other way around and now that she wasn't on the receiving end, she could see how Malfoy found it amusing.

The grip he had on her hand tightened to the point where she was sure that it would bruise by the next morning. Starting to feel slightly uncomfortable, Hermione wiggled her arm.

"Malfoy, let go of me!" she said.

"Don't fucking test me, Granger," he said in a low voice, his fist clenching tighter. "You don't know what you're playing at."

"Is that a threat?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Hermione was about to give him the telling-off of his life when Ron and Harry ran up to them.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing? Let go of her," said Ron who was fumbling in his robes to get his wand.

Harry was quicker and had his wand pointing at Malfoy by the time they reached her.

"Let go of her, Malfoy," he said.

"What are you going to do if I don't, Potter?"

Harry raised his wand even higher. "Don't think I'm afraid to do you, Malfoy. If you want a beating, all you have to do is ask."

Malfoy threw Hermione aside and stepped closer to Harry. Hermione fell against Ron and glanced around nervously. This was not good. If Harry and Malfoy started having a go at each other, it would be very hard for them to stop.

"Bring it on, Potter," said Malfoy, grabbing his own wand.

They stared at each other heatedly and just the second before Harry opened his mouth to cast a spell, their wands flew out of their hands.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, just _what_ do you two think you're doing?"

Professor McGonagall charged down the hall. Behind her trailed a very worried looking Astoria. The professor looked at Malfoy's face and simply pursed her lips as if this was something she saw on a regular basis.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall, "what happened to your face?"

Astoria opened her mouth first.

"It was G –"

"Shut up Astoria," Malfoy snapped. "Nothing happened to my face professor. I'm a growing boy. You know how these things are."

"Very well then," said Professor McGonagall. "Both of you, Headmaster's office _now_. We need to call Professor Snape as well. I imagine he won't be too happy."

She summoned for the two boys to follow, and they did, walking rigidly behind her.

Watching them disappear out of sight, Hermione turned slowly to Astoria, daring her to say something. As she had expected, Astoria only huffed in anger and stalked back towards the Slytherin table. _This _was why Gryffindors were the brave ones. Hermione kept her gaze for a few more seconds while Astoria went into an animated rant, no doubt about the events that just transpired. Feeling satisfied with herself, she turned around and headed for her own table.

"That was bloody _brilliant_, Hermione!" said Ron when she sat down across from him. "How did you learn a curse like that?"

"A curse like what?" she asked.

"TheFurnunculus Curse! We haven't even read about those yet."

"No, Ron. _You_ haven't read about those yet. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."

Ron didn't get the message. "Did you learn any other curses? I mean, you couldn't be very good at them, seeing as how you've had nobody to practise them on, but if you teach me and Harry –"

"Ronald Weasley" interrupted Hermione irately, "if you don't shut up right now, I _will_ practise on you."

Ron's eyes widened and he gulped, thinking of all the different curses that Hermione might've learned over the summer holidays. It was true though – Hermione _had_ learned a lot, but she wasn't thick enough to go practising it on anyone, let alone her best friend.

It was then that Hermione realized just how hungry she was and she quickly dug into her meal, all thoughts of Malfoy and his pathetic excuse of a morality pushed to the back of her head.

The rest of the day passed quickly; Hermione had most of it in her room going over _Hogwarts: a History_ and by the time dinner came rolling around, she was ravenous once again. The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall reflected a clear dark sky, as it should after a bright fall day. Her house table was teeming with chatter and excitement when she reached it and when Hermione sat down across from Ginny, she caught on to what was an entertaining conversation.

"…saw him walking out of the Great Hall with Harry and Professor McGonagall this morning. Poor bloke. Whoever cursed him cursed him _bad. _Can't say I feel sorry for him though," said Dean Thomas, who was sitting beside Ginny.

Everyone murmured their agreements. It wasn't a surprise that Draco Malfoy wasn't particularly popular in the house of Gryffindor, or any other house but Slytherin for that matter.

"Who do you think did it?" asked Ginny.

"Oh, Hermione did," said Ron, looking up from his plate of stuffed turnips.

Hermione glared at him. Nobody needed to know that! She was supposed to be the good one, the composed one, and albeit, losing control was quite fun, she had _no_ intention of doing it again.

"Ron!"

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Hermione. If I ever got a change to have a go at Malfoy, I wouldn't stop talking."

"Shut up, Ron. You wouldn't have the guts to do it," Ginny laughed.

Ron turned beet red and went back to eating his turnips. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt – he was only trying to help. Smiling, she scooped a big pile or mashed potatoes onto Ron's heaping plate. It was a simple enough gesture, but after years of friendship, it was a sign that meant that Hermione wasn't mad at him. Maybe a little annoyed, but definitely not mad.

"Blimey Hermione," said Dean Thomas in awe. "I didn't know you had it in you! Winning points for Gryffindor!"

Hermione smiled sheepishly and ducked her head. She was used to attention but that was mainly because of her, if you don't mind her saying herself, superb academic achievements, and not because she had had to guts to curse somebody. It was different and unexpected, and Hermione found it to be all the more better.

Ginny had said something funny and just as Hermione looked up to reply, her gaze flicked over to the Slytherin house table and met a pair of unsettling grey eyes.

Malfoy was staring at her with a smug sort of look on his face, like he knew something that she didn't. And although his face was littered with recovering red dots from Hermione's curse, he still made her squirm in her seat. When their eyes met, he raised his eyebrows as if daring her to do something before smirking and turning his attention to talk to Astoria.

Hermione felt an odd sort of sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and suddenly, winning points for Gryffindor didn't seem like such a good thing anymore, especially if it meant a personal vendetta with Draco Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for reviewing and stuff! I got a bunch of emails and I literally had a party in my room :)**

**anyways, happy reading 3**

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy could easily count the number of times he didn't feel hostile towards Hermione Granger with one hand and even that was a hand too many. If you asked him who at Hogwarts he hated the most, Granger's name would be the first to pop into his head. The answer would surprise most people; naturally, everyone suspected Harry Potter. But people didn't know that compared to that bushy haired know-it-all, Saint Potter might actually <em>be<em> a saint.

He didn't know what it was about the Muggle-born that irritated him so much. No, scratch that. He knew, but he'd rather prefer not to dwell upon is because honestly, who would like to think about Granger and her hideous haircut, undeniably large front teeth, snooty behaviour…? Not Draco. And the thing that puzzled him the most was the fact that people actually _liked_ her. Potter, he would expect because it seemed like the boy who lived just had the dying urge to befriend everyone (with the exception of Darco, of course) and Weasley because he was born a blood traitor anyways. As for everyone else…Draco was stumped.

Ever since she had cursed him, and perhaps even since the Yule Ball when she had Viktor Krum as a dance partner (_Viktor Krum!_) in their fifth year, Draco was intrigued – he was trying to figure her out and he couldn't and the more he couldn't the irate he got. Draco just didn't understand why anyone would _want_ to be friends with Granger and like it.

"It's probably because she's smart," Astoria said the Thursday after the Furnunculus curse incident. They were sitting in the Slytherin common room and because of Draco's rather unpleasant mood that day most of the students had cleared the area and opted for their own rooms or the library.

"Maybe," replied Draco absentmindedly. He knew that Astoria was only saying that to get him to pay more attention to her. God knows he's been neglecting her all week, although, he has always been neglecting her. Besides, almost everyone in Ravenclaw's smart and Gryffindor and Ravenclaw got on pretty well so Draco saw no reason why people would want to be friends with Granger for her smarts.

"Don't worry Draco, you're loads smarter than her," said Astoria.

"I never said I was worried!" snapped Draco. "Don't have you any homework to do?"

"Well, I was hoping that we could –"

"Go do your work."

Draco sighed in annoyance as he watched Astoria get up and stalk off into her dormitory. Sure she was attractive – _very_ attractive – but to him, a girl was nothing without her brain.

"That was pretty harsh," said Blaise Zabini, who was standing by the staircase to the boys' dorm.

"As if you're any better," said Draco.

Blaise sauntered over and sat down on the couch across from him. He had an emotionless expression. Then again, he always had an emotionless expression.

"You're still obsessing over that Granger girl?"

"I'm not _obsessed_ with her," said Draco. He wasn't _obsessed_ with her.

Blaise looked very sceptical. "You've been talking about her all week."

"What? Can't a guy express his hatred towards certain people without being deemed obsessed?" said Draco angrily.

"Hatred, is it?"

The way Blaise was looking at Draco and the tone he used to talk to him was infuriating. Who was he to sit there and question his hatred for that stupid Muggle-born? Was Blaise saying that he hated Granger _more_ than Draco himself? That was impossible.

Suddenly feeling too angry to function, Draco stood up.

"Yes, hatred."

Although he felt extremely irriational, he was well aware that if Blaise said another thing out of line, Draco wouldn't hesitate to hex his sorry ass off.

It was a well known fact in the Slytherin house that Blaise and Draco had never got on well. They were, as Pansy described it, both dominant males and apparently, you could only ever have one dominant male in a tribe, or a house in this case. There were two different reactions to the pair. People respected Draco and whether or not he got that respect by force or any other disapproving method was irrelevant to the fact. People respected Blaise because was likeable enough, mainly since he didn't have – or didn't show that he had – problems with everyone.

That was the thing that Draco hated the most of Blaise – his constant need to like everyone. It was a mystery to Draco how one could go through life without tormenting someone every once in a while. Was that even possible? Perhaps, he mused, if you were in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but a _Slytherin_? The sorting hat must've been fooled. If Blaise had been put into Gryffindor, Draco was sure that he and Potter would be best pals.

Blaise was still watching Draco with an arrogant look. Draco glared at him so hard, he thought he gaze would penetrate steel. Blaise, however, was unfazed – as always.

"So I take it you were planning her downfall?" said Blaise casually, breaking off their staring contest.

"W-what?" said Draco.

"Well I just assumed that after almost, what, an entire week of brooding over her and her "filthy Mudblood presence", as you kindly put it, that you would've found a way to get back at her," said Blaise, smiling haughtily.

"Just what exactly are you going on about?" said Draco.

It was this sort of thing that angered Draco the most – people playing with their words. How was he supposed to understand what anybody was saying if they were going to make a puzzle out of their sentences? Aside from Blaise, Granger had a habit of doing it, and as Draco recognized years ago, so did Dumbledore – all three who Draco despised. Figures.

Blaise laughed. Whether it was because it was at Draco's incomprehension or because he found himself amusing, Draco didn't know.

"I can't imagine you've forgotten about what she did to your face," he said.

Draco winced and touched his cheek. He could still feel the slight bumps where the boils had sprouted. Thankfully Madam Pomfrey was able to get rid of the boils before they took over his entire face, but the scars were impossible to remove. Madam Pomfrey had said that they would just have to wait it out and let nature take its course.

"I didn't think you did," Blaise continued. "It would be in your…_nature_ to have plotted your revenge?"

"Sounds like a marvellous plan, Blaise. And do tell, just _how_ am I supposed to do that?" said Draco peevishly. Bloody mind games.

Blaise stood up and shrugged his shoulders.

"You have a Slytherin mind. You'll figure it out."

"Wha – ?"

"Just don't let it interfere with your studies," Blaise interrupted. He gave Draco small nod and began to head to the dormitory.

Draco watched as Blaise disappear around the corner. Turning the other way, he walked towards the exit of the common room.

_Studies_. Draco scoffed.

The only person who cared that much about their studies was Granger. Even the Ravenclaws couldn't compare.

An idea popped into Draco's head. Studying and marks…that was what Granger cared about most, wasn't it? She was special because she was the smartest in their year, but what if she wasn't the smartest anymore? Then she would be just like any other Hogwarts student. And on top of that, she'd still be a Mudblood – a big step down from her high horse.

What Astoria had said before floated through Draco's mind: _Don't worry…you're loads smarter than her._

Draco _was_ loads smarter than her, wasn't he? Hadn't the Gryffindor witch always considered Draco to be an obtuse dim-wit? This would be the perfect chance to prove her wrong and give her a taste of her own medicine – killing two birds with one stone.

Yes…Draco smiled. That would do. Blaise was alright then.

It was past curfew and the hallways were completely empty now and Draco looked around for any Prefects of teachers. It was clear.

With the thought of humiliating Granger beyond imaginable, Draco walked with a spring in his step. He felt more confident and willing about the task at hand than he had for weeks. Maybe he even felt lucky to have it. Wouldn't it be a good chance to prove himself to be competent, not only to Granger but to everyone else? He thought it would.

Rounding a corner, Draco came face to face with a large blank wall.

Now…where was that room?


	4. Chapter 4

Draco couldn't stop plotting against Granger. Ever since his little talk with Blaise, he often found himself staring at her during meal times or classes, the gears in his head spinning wildly. Of course, the gears never spun onto something important and his plots never did end up anywhere, which is why he now had to resort to winging it, but it did always make him feel better picturing the look on her face if – no, _when_ – he succeeded.

It was the promise of sweet glory that had Draco chasing the victory rather that succumbing to his instincts and hexing Granger every time he saw her. For as long as Draco could remember, the "Golden Trio" Granger was a part of with Potter and Weasley had always managed to outsmart him and make him a fool in front of his friends, his teachers and, worst of all, his father. Potter was The Boy Who Lived, which clearly speaks for itself and Weasley…well, professors had good impressions and expectations of him, what with his annoying prats of brothers being Head Boys and Wizard Wacky Weasels whatever entrepreneurs. But, as for Granger, it made sense to Draco that she was the source of the problem. The only reason anyone tolerated her was because she was smart (as much as Draco hated to admit it) and if she hadn't been there with her encyclopaedia of brain, Potter and Weasley wouldn't have done half the "heroic" things they had done. It all came down to Granger, didn't it?

The only obstacle Draco had difficulty getting past was just how he was supposed to humiliate her. At first, he thought of bewitching her quills to write the exact opposite of what she meant. There was also the idea of messing up her parchments after every test of assignment but both of those results could easily be fixed and it didn't really give Draco the satisfaction he needed. He wanted Granger to _feel_ stupid, not just seem stupid. Draco knew that bewitched quills and parchments wouldn't do any lasting good – it wouldn't be Granger's fault and she would know it. Another matter was he didn't want just anyone outdoing her. If she started failing her classes, then _everyone_ would be smarter than her. No…that wouldn't do.

Draco had mulled over the issue for the entire week and was beginning to feel like there was no hope when, as if somebody out there had heard his pleas, the perfect situation arose from the ashes.

He hadn't planned on it; a whole week had gone past, and now it was the start of another, without a single worthy idea. Ironically that day he had been telling himself to throw a curse at her because there was no way he would ever think of something good enough – _embarrassing _enough.

They were standing in the dungeons just after lunch, waiting for Professor Slughorn to arrive. Draco could hardly believe his blasted luck. He had _double_ potions on a _Monday_ with the _Gryffindors_ and _Slughorn_. It might as well have been four Dementor's kisses.

Draco wouldn't have minded so much if it had been with Professor Snape. Actually, he wouldn't have minded at all, seeing how Snape hated the Trio even more than Draco did. Now that Snape was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts though, Draco was stuck with the new pitiful excuse of a Potions professor.

At first, Slughorn was alright – good, even. It had pleased Draco that another Slytherin had taken the reigns as Potions Master and he even though that Slughorn might be like Snape. How wrong he was. As it turned out, Slughorn was as much as a Mudblood-lover as that blood-traitor Weasley and then some. If Draco ever heard the sentence "Excellent Ms. Granger! Take twenty points for Gryffindor!" ever again, he would probably lose it.

A few minutes after class had started, Potter and Weasley stumbled through the doors, as always. They seemed to think that school rules simply didn't apply to them. If Draco had pulled a stunt like that, it would have been detention with Filch right off the bat.

Over the sound of Slughorn's voice, Draco could hear Granger chastising the pair for their untimely arrival. Draco snorted. If there was one thing that Mudblood was good at, it was enforcing rules. Draco hadn't been the least bit surprised when she was made a Prefect last year. In fact, he had been expecting it. The world would have gone wrong if he hadn't seen her in the first Prefects meeting. Weasley on the other hand….

"Mr. Malfoy, did you hear me?" said Slughorn.

Draco shook his head, suddenly aware that he had not been paying attention for almost half an hour.

"Sorry professor," he said. "What were you saying?"

Slughorn looked a bit cross but repeated himself anyways. "I asked you what was the exact purpose of the fairy feather was in Shrinking Potions."

Draco couldn't think properly; his mind was still fogged from the long daydreaming he had before. Rattling his brain for an answer, Draco opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by another voice.

"The fairy feather in Shrinking Potions has the purpose of lightening one's weight so that it is proportionate to their shrunken size."

It too Draco less than two seconds to recognize that voice – Granger. Always Granger.

"Excellent Ms. Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor," said Slughorn, positively beaming.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Ten points, what a joke," he spat out in a low whisper, earning him a giggle from Pansy.

The lesson dragged on. Draco was determined to pay extra attention and not let Granger undermine him again. To his disappointment, it looked as though Slughorn had run out of questions for the day. All they were doing now was taking notes on the Shrinking Potions that they were going to make next class. The minutes ticked by and Draco got more and more frustrated by the second. Slughorn usually had questions spewing out of him like an active volcano and he _had_ to choose this day to go on hiatus.

"Draco, you're scratching holes in your parchment," said Pansy, putting her hand on Draco's wrist.

Looking down, Draco realized that he was indeed putting so much force into his note taking that the tip of his quill was poking through the paper, the ink was leaking to the pieces of used parchment underneath. An entire hour of note taking gone to waste….

He tossed his paper aside and stuffed his quill into his bag.

"I'll just copy it from you later. This lesson is so boring I think I might cry," he said.

Pansy nodded and resumed her own scribbling.

Draco propped his elbow onto the desk and, staring off into space, listened half-heartedly as Slughorn droned on.

"…in early 700 BC, the Shrinking Potion was put on an official ban after a wizard named Asma Ahmed dumped two bucketfuls into the Nile Riber. Can anyone tell me what the effect of this was?"

Draco sat up straight. He had read about this in one of his father's books. Asma Ahmed was a _very_ powerful Dark Witch and not only did she slip Shrinking Potion into the Nile River, she was also one of the witches who tweaked the Cruciatus Curse to what it was today. A mighty accomplishment, if you asked Draco.

"No one?" Slughorn looked around the class. "Well, I didn't expect anyone to know this. It's ancient history and –"

Not to anyone's – certainly not Draco's – surprise, Granger spoke up.

"The Shrinking Potion caused –"

Draco coughed. No way was he letting Granger get this one.

"It caused one of the biggest uprisings the wizarding world had ever seen," he interrupted. "The potion shrunk anything that came in contact with it – people, fish, animals, plants. It took almost two years for the Ministry of Magic to sort it all out, but nobody had enough evidence to pin it against Asma so she walked free."

If Slughorn looked surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, his face lit up with delight.

"Very good Mr. Malfoy!" he said in pure excitement. "Fifteen points for Slytherin."

Due to the fact that the Slytherin house rarely got any points in Potions, as it shared the class with Gryffindor, Draco's house erupted into cheers. Crabbe and Goyle patted Draco on the back eagerly, though Draco wasn't sure they had any idea what just happened. From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger slump down into her seat with an angry expression on her face and it stirred the best feeling Draco had had all week.

Unfortunately, Slughorn didn't ask anymore questions, but that one was enough. For the rest of the period, Draco watched as Granger's cheeks turn a shade darker every passing second. She was throwing glares at Draco every now and then that he didn't miss. When he caught her eye, he would wag his eyebrows, a clear sign in victory and watch in content as she ducked her head and scowled. The fact that he was constantly smirking at her only added oil to the flames. If he had known that getting under Granger's skin by simply outsmarting her was this easy, he would've done it ages ago.

By the end of the period, Granger looked like she was about to explode any second and her face was almost the same shade as a ripe beet. Seeing as Potter was taking his time speaking to Slughorn, Draco purposely lagged behind, eavesdropping on Granger and Weasley's conversation.

"…I mean _honestly_! He answers one question correctly and suddenly it's like he's king of the world!" said Granger furiously.

She was blindly throwing her potions ingredients into her schoolbag, sometimes missing the opening and tossing bottles of feathers or talons onto the ground.

Weasley watched her with a pained expression, no doubt thinking about all the Galleons she was wasting.

"It was only one question," he said quietly.

"Good point! Did you see the way he was smirking afterwards? God, he is _so_ irritating!"

By the look on Weasley's face, Draco knew that it had not been his point. The situation was more likely that Granger misinterpreted his meaning but it seemed like Weasley wasn't going to make a move to correct her. Being best friends for 7 years, Draco was sure Weasley knew Granger's abilities when she was angry.

At this point, Draco _had_ to interrupt.

"You might want to watch yourself there, Granger. Never know who might be listening to your little conversations," he said smugly.

Granger raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"If that's supposed to be a threat Malfoy, you might as well shove off. We all know what a sticky – no, _oily_ situation that resulted for you last time," she said.

Draco rolled his eyes. What a feeble comeback.

"You're just mad that you might not be number one anymore," he said.

"_What_ are you even talking about?" asked Granger, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Picking up his things, Draco strolled out the room.

"I don't know. You're smart. You figure it out," he called over his shoulder.

He didn't dare look back, or it would've ruined his perfect exit. In his head, he could just picture the seething look on Granger's face and Weasley's own panicked expression as he tried to calm her down. Pure gold.

There was still quite a bit of time until dinner and Draco knew what he had to do. Making a sharp left, he headed for the library immediately.

The library was almost empty – most students were taking advantage of a nice fall day. It suited Draco just fine. The less people that knew he was here, the better. He wouldn't have his reputation ruined just because he wanted to ruin Grangers.

It seemed like an easy thing to do. Slytherin had mostly Potions with Gryffindor, so there was only one subject Draco had to really read up on. There would probably only be two or three books and Draco could just whiz right through them. He might even make it in time for dinner.

Roaming the aisles, he read over the paper he had in his hand that Madam Pince had given him. It was rubbish help, really. All she had told him was to go the seventh furthest aisle. There must be at least a thousand books in that aisle, how was he supposed to find the potion-related ones?

When he reached aisle number 7, Draco looked to his left and pulled the first book that he saw off the shelf.

_Potions for Beginners, the revised edition_.

Well, that wasn't too hard. He set the book down and randomly pulled off another.

_Potions in the 14__th__ Century_.

…and another…

_Double Double, Toil and Trouble_.

…and another…

_Healthy Brews in 5 Languages._

Draco had pulled off another nine or ten books before realizing that the entire shelf, and maybe aisle, was filled with potion books. Looking up, he felt as if a tonne of bricks had been dropped into his stomach. The shelves in the library must've been more than three times his height! How was he supposed to read all of this by dinner…?

Deciding that standing there and worrying wasn't going to get anywhere, Draco summoned the nearest chair and sat down, with a book heavy in his lap. Dust flew into the air as he cracked open the first thick hard-copy. He scanned the first page and felt his stomach drop even more. By the looks of it, every single book he had gotten got had more than 2,000 pages each and for the first time in his life, Draco fully understood how hard Granger actually had it.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until a week later that Draco finally got a chance to carry out his plan. Granted, it wasn't a very developed plan. Hell, he wasn't even entirely sure what he was doing, but it was a plan nonetheless. Besides, Draco always found that he got his best ideas on the spot.<p>

For the past week, that spot in the library Draco had first sat on became something of a second home to him. At the crack of dawn, he would be there. After breakfast, he would be there. During lunch times, he would be there. Any moment Draco was free, he spent in the library reading on potions.

He didn't know why exactly he was felt so compelled to beat Granger in the subject, but he always had a gnawing feeling inside of him whenever he was without some new knowledge for too long. At first, it was the thought of driving Granger insane that kept him going, but after a while, Draco found that he had taken a liking to the subject. There was so much you could do with brewing potions that you couldn't do with spells. One extra drop of Grindylow blood could be the line of life and death in a potion or causing endless pain in another. It was fascinating to him.

Most of the stuff he had read about was completely irrelevant to anything that they were learning with Slughorn at the moment, but it felt nice to have the extra knowledge in his head. Somehow, Draco felt accomplished with himself. He knew loads of stuff the other students didn't and that put him in a right state. Of course, his knowledge was only limited to the subject of Potions, but that was enough. The subject of Potions was a vast one anyways, he reasoned.

It was a Friday when he strolled into Potions, not knowing that it would be the class where his research would be paid off with a great reward, but happy anyway because it was the end of the week. All he had been expecting was another silly lesson and a simple brewing of a sleeping draught or something along the lines of.

The class was set up differently. Gone were the tiny clusters of tables that usually littered the room. In its place were ten pairs of tables pushed together. In the centre of the room was a large pot brewing a dark purple potion that Draco didn't recognize.

He was halfway to the empty seat beside Pansy (Crabbe and Goyle sat beside each other) when Slughorn rushed over and pulled Draco by the arm.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Perfect timing. We were just about to begin," he said excitedly.

Draco felt himself being thrust into a chair across the room from where his other Slytherin friends were seated. It was clear to him that the assignment was to be done in pairs, but everyone else from his house was already in twos. Perhaps Slughorn wanted Draco to work alone; he was open to the idea of working alone.

Slughorn was going on about something about badly brewed potions. Draco heard bits of sentences ("I personally made the mistakes myself.") but was otherwise inattentive. If he wanted to hear about potions that were prepared incorrectly, he would have skipped class and read through Crabbe or Goyle's homework. Instead, Draco busied himself by counting the grooves on his desk and thinking about what he had read the night before. It didn't escape his notice that Granger wasn't anywhere in sight.

_Good_, thought Draco. _I could do a day without seeing her face_.

There was a light breeze, a small shuffling of cloth, and then a soft voice spoke from behind him.

"Can you move over a bit? I can't see the professor," said the voice.

Draco turned around to fast he thought he head would've fallen off. It was that bushy-haired Mudblood that he had just been so happy to be rid of.

"_You_," he said in shock.

Granger looked defiant. "Me."

"You're in the wrong seat."

If Granger thought that they were going to work together peacefully, or together at all, she really was nutty in the head.

"Professor Slughorn put me here at the beginning of the lesson," she said, rolling her eyes.

Draco narrowed his.

"Then where were you the entire time?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ihad _important_ things to do," said Granger smugly, lifting up her chin.

Draco smirked. Of course she would have "important things" to do. Just wait until Slughorn starts asking him usual questions. Draco knew that he would wipe that smug grin right off Granger's face. He knew.

At that moment, it was shocking to him how much he wanted to outdo her. It was the only thing he could outdo her in. Everything else was irrelevant. And, he realized, it'll be something of a game. Name-calling and hallway-pushing were too childish for him now. In their sixth year at Hogwarts, it would just _kill_ Granger if she wasn't the top student at the end of the year. It would _kill_ her.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," said Granger, waving a hand in front of Draco's face.

Draco's eyes snapped back to focus and he gazed at her with an uninterested expression.

"What?"

"Did you hear anything I said?" she sighed.

He doesn't hesitate to say, "No."

Granger let out a frustrated sigh and muttered something that sounded _very_ similar to "Stupid little ferret" to Draco.

"Hey," he said defensively. "Nobody asked you to work with me, which reminds me…are you _sure_ we're partners?"

"What? Yes! Professor Slughorn said so."

"Somehow I find that very doubtful…"

"Malfoy, why on earth would I want to work with you intentionally?"

Draco lolled back against the desk and gave her a questioning look – almost a smile, but not, because why would he ever smile at her.

"I don't know. You tell me," he said.

"I didn't ask for this!" she cried in exasperation, a bit louder than he would have liked.

"Fine," he said, "fine. You didn't ask for –"

He was interrupted by a third voice, causing both of them to jump in their seats.

"Ah, my golden pair," said Slughorn. "I expect you two are getting along fine?"

"Just dandy," said Draco through gritted teeth.

Slughorn took no notice of the resentment in Draco's tone and smiled warmly at Granger. "And have you gotten the book that I suggested?"

Draco rolled his eyes and started reading out of his textbook. If he knew anything about the relationship of Slughorn and his utmost favourite Muggle-born student, he knew that this conversation would lead to nothing but a dreadfully tedious topic about something that happened a millennium or two ago.

As if her previous argument with Draco didn't exist, Granger beamed.

"Yes professor," she said. "I didn't know there was an entire book dedicated to the missing ingredient mishap in 1567."

1567? Draco's ears perked up. This was the exact thing that he had read about the night before and to his great delight, the incident was in _1568_, not 1567. He had to bite down on his tongue to prevent himself from laughing out loud.

"1568," interjected Draco emotionlessly, not at all mirroring what he was feeling inside. "It was 1568."

He didn't look up from his book. He didn't want to come off as too eager, but judging by the sudden silence from Granger and Slughorn, he could tell that they were both surprised.

"No," said Granger certainly. "That _can't_ be right. I distinctly remember it was 1567."

Draco shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Slughorn.

"Well, let's ask professor then," he suggested.

There wasn't anything for him to lose. If he was wrong, Slughorn would still think of him as second best compared to Granger and she would still think he's scum. However, if he was right, he would surely be cast a brighter light in Slughorn's eyes and Granger would definitely baffled out of her bollocks.

Slughorn was smiling brightly at the pair, obviously not noticing the high tensions between them.

"Excellent!" he said elatedly. "Nothing like a friendly competition amongst the two top students to keep up the high spirits!"

_Friendly competition_? _High spirits_? Draco almost snorted. As brilliant as the professor was at potions, he was obviously oblivious to anything outside the classroom.

"Was 1568 or 1567, sir?" pressed Granger impatiently.

_Wouldn't be so impatient when you find out that you're wrong_, thought Draco.

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn thoughtfully. "Both answers could be all correct; it was so long ago and such a small incident too. But technically speaking…I do remember it was 1568."

"You're sure?" she asked in disbelief.

Draco shook his head. He had always wondered why everyone loved Gryffindor so much. Personally, he found them to be a bunch of stuck-up snobs, and _this_ was the perfect scenario. Stupid little Gryffindor can't even admit that she's wrong sometimes, can she?

Slughorn nodded. "Positive."

Granger huffed in defeat but Slughorn doesn't see anything.

"You two better get started on your assignment," he said professor-like. "The other students have already started on their first parchment."

With that, he proceeded to move on to the next table, leaving both Granger and Draco irritated.

"The first part is individual work, so I see no reason why we need to interact at all," said Granger stiffly.

Draco almost wanted to laugh at how beaten she sounded. It was only one mistake that she made, after all. But then again, precious Miss. Granger can't make any mistakes.

"Whatever you say," he replied. If she was baiting him into starting a row, she needed to rethink her strategies.

"Fine."

"Fine."

Draco resumed reading his textbook. He faintly remembered the assignment to be something on antidotes. It didn't matter; Pansy would tell him later. He was more interested on what Granger was doing.

Pretending to grab a quill from his bag, Draco stealthily glanced at her. The sight was almost tragic. Anyone could tell that Granger was too angry to function. Her face was red and scrunched up in concentration as she scribbled madly onto her parchment. Once or twice she flipped the page so hard that the corner tore a bit, only earning a cry of frustration and some more furious scribbling.

"What?" she demanded angrily, meeting Draco's eyes.

He only smirked and returned to his own book, deciding that working with Granger wouldn't be so bad. He was always up for free entertainment.

At the end of the period, Granger grabbed all her books and threw them into her bag and, after throwing Draco an intense glower, stalked off, the first to leave the class within 15 seconds.

For a fleeting second as Draco watched her leave, he felt a wave of sympathy for Granger. It must've been hard, coming to Hogwarts having only known about it for a month or two the most. She had a lot to prove, just as he did with his own father. But it was just for a fleeting second because Granger had it like a queen compared to Draco. If she knew…if _anyone_ knew what he had to do….

With that thought, Draco quickly grabbed his own things and walked out of the classroom, angry that his satisfied feeling from before vanished so easily – angry that he even felt sorry for _her_.

On the way, he bumped into Astoria, who was talking with her friends.

"Draco!" she called eagerly – a little _too_ eagerly.

Draco cursed himself for not taking another route. He wasn't in the mood for Astoria's prattling.

"What," he snapped, coming to a stop a few meters away.

"Do you want to –?"

"No."

"But –"

"No."

He didn't care that he was being a tad too harsh. Astoria knew what she signed up for – Draco wasn't the Slytherin Prince for being the most generous guy alive. She had the Hufflepuffs for that.

"Okay," said Astoria, sounding a little crestfallen. "Where are you going?"

"The library!" Draco replied immediately. It wasn't a lie. He was going to the library. Maybe no immediately, but he was still going.

"But the library's the other way!"

Acting as if he hadn't heard her, Draco rounded the corner and broke into a speed walk down a deserted hallway. A couple more turns later, and Draco was sure that no one was on his tail, he took a right and came to his destination.

It had to work this time. It had to. Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath and silently wished…

_I need the place where everything is hidden._


	5. Chapter 5

It was with the greatest dread that Draco woke up on what looked to be the gloomiest day October had ever seen. The rain that was pelting down on the other face of the thin glass pane beside his bed showed no sign of letting up. It had been raining all week and Draco hated it. The dark and damp atmosphere did nothing to improve his bleak mood.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts that morning, his attitude only progressed into a further state of agitation and glum. For the past few weeks, Snape had decided to scrutinize Draco with precise attention and the current lesson that Draco was in was a prime example. Snape had been looking in Draco's direction so often that an outsider would think the teacher might've taken a fancy towards the student – a thought that, rest assured, Draco wanted no one to have.

Snape was a good professor, no doubt, and perhaps the best at Hogwarts in Draco's opinion. But Draco's high-thought judgment did nothing to lessen the livid feeling he was having now towards the professor. Did Snape think that Draco was unable to handle himself? Surely Snape would know that Draco had been _chosen_ by the greatest Dark wizard. If that wasn't enough to prove his capability, Draco didn't know what would. There was a nagging suspicion in the back of Draco's head that spoke ill of his favourite professor. Maybe…maybe Snape was looking for a way to steal Draco's spotlight. It would, after all, be in Snape's best interest to become Voldemort's favourite again, and completing the task that Draco had would be the easiest – and most efficient – way.

Beside him, Crabbe had suddenly stumbled on a chair leg and a flying hex missed Draco by a mere inch. Draco straightened with a startle, coming out of his deep thoughts and realizing with unease that for the past ten minutes, the roles were reversed and it was he who had been staring uncaringly at Snape. He quickly looked away, hoping that no one, especially not Snape, had caught him looking.

"You fool," he snapped at Crabbe, more angrily that he felt. "You almost killed me."

"Sorry," Crabbe mumbled. "Wasn't paying attention."

"Why were you throwing hexes around anyways?" asked Draco. "We're working on counter-jinxes today."

Crabbe gave Draco a discomfited glance before muttering something about not paying attention in class. Draco didn't miss the way Crabbe's eyes flickered over to the corner of the room where Millicent Bulstrode sat. Interestingly, she was smiling in a girlish way towards Theodore Nott, and Draco suddenly understood.

It was odd; Draco had never thought of Crabbe – or Goyle for that matter – like _that_. They had always been his best friends, dimwitted as they were, and to him, Crabbe and Goyle would still be the two fairly large boys he had befriended in their first year.

"She's not worth the trouble, mate," said Draco.

Crabbe blinked twice.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said before stuffing his nose into a textbook.

Draco snorted. As if Crabbe could understand half of what's going on in that thick slab of paper. But it didn't worry Draco. If Crabbe didn't want to talk about his…_personal_ problems, then Draco wouldn't be one to pry. Unlike Potter, he certainly had enough dignity to not go prying about in other people's business. Besides, Draco had enough troubles as it was without dealing with Crabbe's romantic feelings towards Millicent.

When Defence Against the Dark Arts finally, _finally_, ended, Draco picked up his things and waited for Pansy to finish packing hers, not bothering to hesitate for Crabbe; Goyle had skived off D.A.D.A. and Draco was positive that Crabbe would join him during Potions. He preferred it that way. Crabbe and Goyle were always looking for trouble or, in other words, tiny first-years to torment and over the years, Draco had gotten more and more bored of their immature tricks. Walking with Pansy was easier because she stuck to occasional snide remarks and on better days, she and Draco just walked the hallways in silence.

Just as he stepped one foot out of the classroom, he was called back in.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Snape in his usual monotone voice. "I would like to speak with you. Privately," he added, seeing Pansy waver.

Draco cursed under his breath and waved Pansy off. Just another lousy thing to add to his list of lousy things that made his day lousy. Wonderful. He turned around slowly and looked at Snape with the most indifferent expression he could pull.

"Yes, sir?" he said.

Snape's gaze trailed around the empty classroom.

"If you would just come here, I would like to discuss your most recent essay," he said.

Draco warily threw his bag onto the nearest chair and dragged his feet over to the professor's desk. To his surprise, Snape did have an essay parchment laid out on his desk. Big and bright, the letter P stood out from the otherwise plain scribbles.

"Your grades have been…slipping," Snape said slowly.

"They haven't been all too great to begin with," replied Draco unconcernedly. Education wasn't a big concern to him anymore, not when there were bigger and better things he could be doing.

"Draco, if this has anything to do with what he –"

"This has nothing to do with what _he_ told me to do."

"If your grades continue to slip, then people will start to ask questions."

"Then give me higher grades! Stop giving tests! I don't care."

His blood was absolutely boiling now. Who was Snape to stand there and tell him what and what not to do? Wasn't it he who was the betrayer after all these years? No matter what people said about Snape being a double-spy for Voldemort, Draco would never believe it.

"Draco," Snape began. "You must listen to me."

Having heard enough, Draco grabbed his bag and headed for the door and said, "Sorry professor, I'm late for my next class." And with that, he sped out of the dark room.

There wasn't a time that Draco could remember where he felt worse than he did now. It was a jumble of negative emotions rolling around his insides and when he walked past a couple of laughing second-year Gryffindors in the hallway, he cursed them right then and there, not giving a single damn about who was watching.

He had seriously considered not going to Potions and going off to find Crabbe and Goyle but he remembered that he had an assignment to finish with Granger. It wasn't as if he cared about getting it done or anything, but just the thought of Granger tracking him down after lessons to lecture him for a good hour was enough to keep his feet moving in the direction of the Potions classroom.

Draco walked into the Potions room to find that Granger had already seated herself in the same row as last class and to his dismay, Potter and Weasley were crowded around her.

"…and if he gives you any trouble, just tell me Hermione. If that little ferret even tries _anything_, I'll hex him until he forgets who his mother is," finished Potter as Draco got closer.

"Yeah Hermione, don't let him get to you," Weasley added.

Draco snorted.

"How touching of you Potter…Weasley, but trust me when I say I don't want to get to…_that_ in the first place," said Draco.

In a split second, Potter hopped off his chair and Weasley grabbed his wand, aiming it at Draco's face.

"Oh, scary," said Draco, swatting the wand away. "What are you going to do, Weasel? Make me eat slugs?"

Weasley shoved the wand back in Draco's face.

"Listen Malfoy," said Potter, drawing out his own wand as well. "If there is even a _scratch_ on Hermione then –"

"Harry, _stop it_!" said Granger, grabbing his and Weasley's wand. "You'll get in trouble!"

"If a detention with Slughorn is the consequence of having a go at him, Hermione, I really don't mind," replied Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Please, Potter, do your best. I really don't mind either," he said. "And Weasley, stay out of it. I don't want your defective wand accidentally hexing Granger or anything like that. Actually, if there's a chance you mind hex her by accident, by all means, join right in," he added, watching each of the trio's faces redden.

"You –" said Weasley, charging at him.

Granger grabbed Weasley and Potter each by the arm and pulled them behind the desk.

"Ron, Harry, _no_," she said sternly.

Draco, who hadn't been expecting the two to disregard her warning, wasn't surprised but only a bit disappointed when they grouchily stayed unmoving and began a long string of protests. After knowing the three for six years, Draco could safely say that, no matter how much they could deny it, Granger had Potter and Weasley in the palm of her dirty little hands.

Feeling already quite bored with the previous quarrel, Draco sat down and began looking over his poorly written essay Slughorn had assigned the class before, leaving it up to Granger to rid him of Potter and Weasley. Sure enough, after five entire minutes of intensive bickering, Draco finally achieved peace when he heard Granger giving a good lecture to Potter and Weasley about leaving their own partners in the midst of an important assignment.

"Honestly," Granger muttered to herself as the other two left.

Draco glanced up from his parchment. Granger was in her own world, scratching out lines and replacing them with new ones in her essay. She looked different today; her hair was unusually tame and tied up in a neat ponytail. It had the same look as it did the night of the Yule Ball and Draco found that, for the third time in his life, it wasn't all too atrocious. He allowed himself to study her some more, from her tied hair down to the rarely exposed skin on her neck and –

"Just what are you looking at?" snapped Granger.

Almost immediately, Draco lifted his gaze and met Granger's eyes.

"Can't I simply allow my eyes exercise without being scolded?" he replied in a voice softer than he would've liked. Still, he felt at that moment that he didn't hate her as much as he should.

Granger flushed but promptly said, "Well, you eyes are 'exercise' themselves somewhere else."

"Am I distracting you?" said Draco amusedly.

"As a matter of fact, you are," she retorted and before Draco could answer, quickly added, "Are you done with your essay? I'm going to get our potion now."

_Always cutting to the chase_, thought Draco.

Only offering a nod, he thrust his paper at her. Granger caught it effortlessly, denying Draco of a good telling-off if she dropped it, and rolled it up with her own. Draco watched in faint annoyance as Granger's parchment circles his three times – it must've been longer by at least a food. Did she always have to be such a haughty know-it-all? Really, because if she wasn't, maybe people would actually like her.

Ah, but people do like her anyways, don't they …, said a tiny voice in the back of Draco's head.

Oh yes, of course people loved Granger regardless of her character…malfunctions. It was almost sickening.

He didn't know what it was with him, but soon Draco found himself in a very agitated state again. Based on what was happening to him, he was given the impression that this may not be his day … or month … or year, seeing as how literally nothing was going the way he had planned.

When Granger returned to their table, she was holding a small vial of a dark purple mixture and a rolled parchment in her hand.

"Here," she said, handing Draco the parchment, "I didn't hand it in because you've made some mistakes."

Draco unrolled the parchment.

"But won't Slughorn say something?" he asked suspiciously. If Granger was trying to fail him on purpose…

"Oh no," she said matter-of-factly. "I already cleared it up with Professor Slughorn. He says it's fine as long as you make it ten times better before you hand it back in."

"You –" Draco have to take a deep, shuddery breath before continuing "– you told him that there were mistakes in my essay?"

"Well, he wanted to know why I wasn't going to hand it in."

Draco's blood pressure rose quicker than a Firebolt. Any confusing feelings he had towards her earlier vanished and he was reminded of the exact reason he disliked her so.

"It wasn't your decision to make," he managed to say as calmly as he could.

"I just thought that you might want to get a better grade," replied Granger.

The contempt look on her face made Draco see red. She – she dare tell him that his essay was _unsatisfactory_? He knew. He _knew_ that he had done it poorly. Of course he knew; Malfoys don't just hand in less than adequate work because they wanted to. There was too much going on and he had no time … no time.

"Aren't you going to start on it?" Granger asked.

Not wanting to do something he'd regret – no, something he'd get in trouble for, Draco grunted in response and grabbed his quill. To be honest, it was a waste of time; he was too angry to focus. Halfway through his re-read, he felt Granger hovering over his shoulder.

"You haven't fixed anything," she said.

Draco closed his eyes, counted backwards slowly from five and said, "Because I haven't found anything.

If he ever made a mistake worth killing himself over, it would be this. As soon as the words left his mouth, Granger snatched the paper from his hands.

"Look," she said impatiently. "In the first paragraph you spelled Blast-Ended Skrewt wrong. It's _s – k – r – e – w – t_, not_ s – c – r – e – w – t_. You should know this. We learnt it with Hagrid."

"Like I would pay attention to anything that oaf has to say," muttered Draco grudgingly.

Granger ignored him and continued reading what Draco had written. She now had the paper spread out on the table, her wand moving every so often, correcting whatever error she found. Apparently, it was unimportant to her to tell Draco she was changing on _his_ essay. Draco felt his anger rise through the roof. Any tolerance he had for her was gone.

"I can do it for myself," he snapped, ripping the parchment from underneath Granger's hands.

"You weren't doing a very good job of it," she said, chin up and a very reproachful glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, well what's it to you? It's my essay."

"I just thought you might appreciate some help. I mean, your marks haven't been all that great, have they?"

Draco was unable to respond. How in the world did she know about his marks? That was _private_ information; not even Pansy knew, and neither did Crabbe or Goyle (if they even cared).

"That's private. How did you know that?" he said after a minute of shock, realizing too late that he hadn't even bothered to deny it.

"Besides, the faster I help you, the faster we can get started on our assignment," said Granger, dismissing Draco's question entirely.

"I don't need help. Especially not from a filthy Mudblood," Draco spat out.

His insult didn't generate the livid response he had hoped for. On the contrary, Granger smirked and took his momentary surprise as an opportunity to grab his essay.

"You really should think of some new material," she told him casually. "Saying the same thing for six years gets rather old after a while."

"You think you're clever, do you? Tell me, how badly hurt are you on the inside?" said Draco.

He couldn't think of anything else to say. She should be furious. He wanted her to be so he'd have an excuse how show how furious he actually was. And yet, all she was doing was _humming_ to herself while _helping _him correct _his_ essay. Since when did everyone decide to become such adults without him?

Granger was smiling slightly.

"Go hand this in, and then we can start on our potion," she told him, handing him the re-rolled essay.

With nothing else to say, Draco stood up, his chair making a loud scraping noise, and seized the parchment from her hands. Not bothering to walk the whole length of the classroom, he stopped after a few steps and threw his essay into the basket that Slughorn kept in the front of the class. It landed in, almost tipping off the edge, but ultimately remained on the inside. He wouldn't have cared if it fell out.

A couple feet from him, Draco heard Potter let out a loud laugh.

"What you laughing at, Potter?" said Draco.

Potter smirked. "Nice aim, Malfoy. If only you could use your skills in Quidditch, Slytherin might actually win the cup for once in five years."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Potter. How's Sirius?"

The glass tube of a dangerous, green-looking liquid that Potter was holding fell onto the table. As the glass broke, its contents spread across the wooden table, sending grey wisps of smoke into the air. Draco hardly saw the faint outline of Potter, but realized that he was taking his wand out of his pocket. Hurrying to copy, Draco reached for his own wand but at the last second, felt it fly out of his pocket.

"What the –"

He turned to see where his wand had flown, and his eyes landed on Granger, holding her and Draco's wand in one hand, and Potter's in the other.

In three seconds flat, Draco and Potter had rounded on Granger, both hands outstretched.

"Give me my wand, Granger," said Draco at the same time that Potter had said, "Give me my wand, Hermione."

Granger shook her head.

"You can have it back at the end of the lesson –"

"_What_!"

" – or I can give it back now and you can explain to Professor Slughorn why you were both about to curse each other's heads off."

Draco and Potter stared at Granger. There was no sign of humour anywhere on her face and they both knew – she was serious. Seconds of silence passed as they tried to think of something to say. Potter was the first to crack and just as he opened his mouth in protest, Granger's hand quickly shot in the air.

"Prof—"

She was silenced when Potter smacked his hand over her mouth.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "And I supposed Malfoy would agree?"

"I think it's the only thing we'd ever agree on," said Draco stiffly.

Potter nodded his head and grumbled, "I expect my wand back, Hermione," and stalked back to his own table.

"My wand, too," reminded Draco.

Granger sighed.

"_Relax_. You'll get your wand back," she said. "Why would I want it anyways?"

"I just want my wand back."

They settled into quiet, Granger writing down something important or another, and Draco studying the purple vial. What was in it, he didn't know, and he had read about many potions. There were many things he didn't have time for, but he always remembered to go to the library. It was almost laughable when every essay he put effort in (not counting his most recent one) in Potions got him an O, while his other classes ranged from P to an A.

There was another slight shuffle in the chair beside him and Draco sighed. It hadn't gone by unnoticed by him that Granger had been moving restlessly in her chair for the past five minutes. He knew that it was on purpose because each time she stopped moving, she would tilt her head slightly and look at him. Draco knew that she thought he couldn't see him, but he had excellent peripheral vision.

"If you want to say something, you might as well say it," said Draco in annoyance after Granger quickly ducked her head for the umpteenth time.

"If you really want to know –"

"Oh, just get on with it."

Granger sniffed and shut her book. She swivelled in her chair until she came face to face with Draco.

"I was just thinking that maybe – maybe you should control yourself around Harry. And Ron."

"Excuse me?" Draco was baffled.

"I mean, it's not like you three have got the best tempers and –"

"Are you saying I'm short-tempered?" snapped Draco.

Granger raised an eyebrow.

Draco mentally slapped himself. Obviously by his sudden outburst, he had just contradicted himself.

"As I was saying," she continued. "It's not like you three have got the best tempers and now…you're not exactly going to be throwing slug-eating hexes now, are you?"

Draco could've sworn he saw the corners of her lips twitch upward. He was, to say the least, confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that one day either one of you thick-heads will take it too far and accidentally kill each other, or hurt each other, or _worse_, get each other expelled."

Draco sincerely hoped that her priorities were not in the same order as she had just listed.

"Shouldn't you be telling Saint Potter and Weaselbee this? Why are you bothering with telling me?" he said. You can't possibly tell him that Granger actually cared about him?

"It would hardly be fair for me to tell them to stop hexing you whenever while you were still blindly cursing them, now would it?" she replied easily.

Ah, so she didn't care.

"Listen Granger," said Draco. "I don't know who you think are anymore but if you think that I'm going to sit around and let some filthy Mudblood tell me what to do, then you've got another thing coming for you."

Granger stiffened.

"Ah, and you said that word didn't effect you," he continued, smirking.

"It doesn't," she replied, not looking at Draco anymore.

"Why not? It's a dirty word. Dirty words for dirty blood and –"

Draco was suddenly aware that Granger's attention wasn't on him anymore, but at the far corner of the room. His eyes flicked in that direction and he saw Weasley looking a bit too cosy with another Gryffindor girl. What was her name? Something to do with a flower was all Draco knew. Daffodil? Tulip? Right – Lavender. To him, Granger had the same expression that Crabbe had earlier that day. And it couldn't be unless…

"My, Granger. Fancying your best friend?" said Draco.

"I am _not_," Granger said.

"Right. Well, he does look happy with that Lavender girl."

Granger didn't answer.

"And what is she? A Pureblood?" Draco carried on. "And you thought that blood-status didn't matter."

"Shut up Malfoy," she said.

"As much as I dislike him, I have to say, quite an upgrade."

Draco knew he was playing with fire. Having been with countless girls and best friends with Pansy, he knew how to get on a girl's nerves.

"I _said_ shut up, Malfoy," hissed Granger.

"It's a bit surprising that he even acknowledges you as a girl," said Draco tauntingly.

The quill Granger was holding snapped in half. Her fists were now clenched and her face turned a dark shade of red.

"Yeah?" she said loudly. "And what have you got to know about girls, seeing as how the only one who would ever love you is your mother?"

"Don't talk about –"

"But she doesn't love you so much now that your father's in Azkaban and she's stuck all alone with you, now does she?"

Draco didn't realize how angry he was until the small vial of their project potion that he had in his hand crushed under his grip. He quickly released his hand, but it was no use. The purple liquid dribbled down from his fingers, leaving his skin feeling as if it were frozen ice.

"You absolute _dimwit_!" said Granger. "That was our assignment potion."

"Thanks for pointing that out, I really hadn't known," retorted Draco sarcastically.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Honestly, I don't care."

They stared at each other in stony anger. Draco wondered how long before either one lost control, but then he remembered that Granger had his wand and that if he were to step another toe out of line, he would surely be seeing Madam Pomfrey for the next week.

Around them, chairs scraped against the floor and shuffling of paper told that the lesson had ended. Draco quickly grabbed his books and by the time he looked up from packing his things, Granger was already gone. He caught sight of her almost unruly hair walking out the door, followed by a ginger-head which could only be Weasley.

"Hey! Hey, Granger!" he called after her, picking up his bag and chasing after her.

Weaving through the crowd of people, Draco reached out and grasped her arm, effectively making her whip around.

"What?" she asked angrily.

Potter and Weasley flanked beside her, both holding their wands.

"Let go, Malfoy," said Potter.

"Got your wand back, have you Potter?" said Draco, not letting go.

"Yeah, so what?"

"Well, Little Miss Perfect here hasn't returned mine."

Potter smirked.

"Not so big when you haven't got your wand, huh Malfoy?" he said.

Granger pulled Draco's wand out of her pocket, and smacked Potter.

"Harry, _no_," she said chidingly and handed Draco his wand. "Here."

Draco snatched his wand and pointed directly at Potter. He wasn't afraid to play games and he knew that when push came to shove, Potter would just step off, like always.

"You're not so big even when you've got your wand, so I suggest you shut it," said Draco.

He could see it. Potter was just a millisecond away from saying a curse when Snape rushed towards them.

"What is going on here?" he asked, glaring at all four of them.

"Just wondering whether I should have Malfoy sprout antlers or grow spider legs," said Potter smugly.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said immediately. "And another ten because your shirt isn't tucked in, Mr Weasley, and let's take another five because your hair, Ms Granger, is a mess."

"What about Malfoy?" asked Weasley.

"It seems to me that Mr Malfoy was simply giving a disciplinary talk to you … less obedient students. I see nothing wrong."

"But –"

"Go, before I decide to take all the points that Gryffindor has."

Granger looked panicked.

"Harry, Ron, let's go," she said, tugging on Potter and Weasley's shirts.

With another glare at Draco, the trio stalked down the now empty hallway. He could hear Granger talking heatedly to Potter and Weasley. Whether it was about the fact that they almost single-handedly lost all of Gryffindor's House points or about what had transpired between her and Draco in the class before, Draco couldn't be sure.

Watching them leave, Draco almost wished that they would come back because now, he was left alone in the deserted hallway with Snape and he knew that the professor would start nagging him about seeking attention and watching himself and God knows what else.

"What did I say about attracting attention?" Snape said, proving Draco's thesis to be true. "You can not afford to jest Potter like that."

"What's he going to do?" said Draco, his annoyance flaring again.

"Draco, you need to be careful."

Draco was breathing hard. He couldn't take anymore of this. Abruptly, he turned around and raced down the corridor. Snape didn't try to call him back and even if he did, Draco wouldn't have listened.

He contemplated heading to the library, but decided against it because judging by the horrible weather, the library would be crowded with kids. He just wanted to be alone.

The walk to the dungeon was slow. His dormitory seemed farther away than it had ever and he didn't get any satisfaction on the journey because everyone was smart enough to dodge his way. Did he look as angry as he felt?

In his lone walk, the day's events flitted through his head. His talk with Snape in D.A.D.A., Potter and Weasley being annoying prats like always, and Granger. Her and her insufferableness was maddening. Draco was quick to discount that short moment of acceptance he had towards her. It was probably because she had just gotten rid of Potter and Weasley. Still … no, what was going on with him? There was no 'still'. He almost felt sick to his stomach and – _damn it_ – how many more stairs did he have to descend?

At last, he walked into the Slytherin common room. He didn't bother to greet anyone and instead focused on his nearing solitude that was waiting for him in his room. Nobody, not even Astoria, who was usually dying for his attention, tried to approach him. Somehow, he wished someone would; he would've had an excuse to shout, to curse. Perhaps he had been angry too often now and people learnt their lesson. He did hex a first-year so bad that she didn't turn up for lessons for a week.

When he reached his room, he flung the door open with a flick of his wand. Crabbe and Goyle were lounging lazily on their beds, popping Chocolate Frogs into their mouths. Draco was in no mood to deal with them either.

"Out!" he said, flinging the chocolate out the door. "Get Out!"

Crabbe and Goyle clumsily fell of their beds and chased their snacks out of the door. Draco didn't think they even knew why they were shooed out of their beds. They probably only cared about their escaped chocolates.

The door slammed shut and Draco muttered a spell that kept it locked. Another flick of his wand later, the curtains in the room shut and Draco was left in the dark. It was then that he realized his hand was still ice cold from the spill of the potion earlier. He told himself that he would see Madam Pomfrey about it later. It wasn't a pressing matter. The cold that the potion caused wasn't all that different from the cold that he felt in the rest of his body.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: phew! the longest chapter i've ever written! of course their relationship is progressing slowly, but this is a dramione fic, so the good stuff is yet to come ;)<strong>

**anyways, thank you SO much for all your reviews and everything. it's amazing :). if you could review this chapter as well, i'd really appreciate it!**


	6. Chapter 6

The damp weather, particularly the rainy sort, did not, as she had found out years ago, do justice to Hermione's hair. It was impossible to keep it tidied in a ponytail (may all her broken hair-elastics rest in peace) and not even the best hairstyling products were of any good use. On top of downpour that had befallen Hogwarts, an ever-present fog had been lingering the atmosphere. Hermione had her suspicions about what exactly was causing the fog and wasn't at all surprised when Harry confirmed her guess.

"Lupin said it's because of the Dementors. They're breeding," he said as they sat in the Great Hall during dinner.

"I knew I read that somewhere," said Hermione.

Ron, who was usually less adept at taking in shocking news than the other two, had a look of horror.

"Dementors? Breeding?" he said in a low voice.

Harry nodded and said, "Yeah, Lupin reckons Voldemort –"

"Oh _honestly_, Ron," interjected Hermione when the red-haired boy made a squeaking sound.

"He reckons Voldemort would want as big of an army as he can get while the Ministry is still sorting everything out," finished Harry.

"I'm a bit surprised, really," said Hermione. "They're handling everything better than I thought they would."

"Would've handled it a lot better if they believed me or Dumbledore last year," Harry muttered under his breath.

Harry's bitterness towards the Minisitry of Magic wasn't unexpected. All of last year, the Ministry had been thwarting off his story of Voldemort's return as a mere cry for attention, earning him a very bad reputation amongst most of the wizarding world. The newspaper that most often circulated, the Daily Prophet, made its best effort to instert a side article of Harry every now and then, as if he was a joke. It wasn't until their break-in at the Ministry of Magic last term that solidified the truth; Cornelius Fudge, number one supporter of the Boy Who Lies campaign, coincidentally also the Minister of Magic (until he was sacked a few weeks ago), had seen Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry along with twenty other Ministry officials and could deny no longer – Voldemort was indeed back.

How they could have overlooked the signs, Hermione didn't know. There were so many signs of his return in the past year, and some in the year before that, just as the ones when he had last risen years ago. Having grown up in a Muggle society, Hermione couldn't possibly imagine the full impact if Voldemort came to full power again. But her last few years in the wizarding world gave her a close enough idea.

"At least everyone believes you now," she told Harry, who still looked glum as ever.

Ron nodded enthusiastically.

"Dad says almost everyone at the Ministry's behind you, Harry," he said, mouth full of food. "Even with Fudge gone, they're still a bit iffy about trusting the Ministry, what with being lied to about You-Know-Who and everything. And dad says a whole lot of them, especially the Aurors, are furious. I mean, they spent the past three years chasing what they thought was the biggest You-Know-Who supporter and then it turns that Sirius was –"

Hermione kicked Ron under the table and looked at worriedly at Harry.

They hadn't gotten to the topic Sirius yet and every time either she or Ron tries to bring it up, Harry jumped onto another thing. Hermione knew he didn't want to, or felt comfortable, talking about it. When her grandma died, Hermione didn't properly talk to anyone months, but she found it better in the end to do so. Being best friends with Harry since their first year, Hermione knew better than to bring the subject into the open. Instead, she planned on allowing Harry to, whenever he wanted, although that didn't seem like anytime soon.

"Whadja kick me for?" said Ron crossly.

"Did I? I didn't know," replied Hermione. She was aware of Harry watching her, but pretended not to notice.

"You…" Ron was at a loss for words, he gave Harry and incredulous expression.

"Anyways, I read in the Daily Prophet yesterday and a lot of people are rooting for the new Minister," said Hermione. "Rufus Scrimgeour, I think his name is."

"Dumbledore doesn't like him much," said Harry.

"Neither does dad," said Ron.

"Well, he's sure better than Fudge by a long shot," said Hermione.

"Yeah, with Fudge gone, we won't have to face Umbridge everyday now," said Ron happily.

"I don't think Umbridge would've come back even if Fudge was still in office," said Harry, grinning slightly.

"The centaurs wouldn't let her even if she wanted to," Hermione added.

The three laughed. Umbridge had been a horrible teacher and they could speak for almost everyone when they said that they were _very_ happy to be rid of her.

A group of giggles girls approached Harry and some looked rather rnterested in Ron as well.

"Hi Harry," said the light-haired girl in the middle.

Harry smiled warily.

"Hi," he said.

Her friends prodded her until she was standing right in front of Harry.

"So," she continued. "Rumor has it you're the new Quidditch Captain."

"I am," said Harry.

The girls giggled.

"When are the tryouts?" asked one who was lingering in the back.

"Er – Sunday?" Harry replied.

A deep shade of crimson was staining his cheeks and Hermione had to stifle a giggle of her own. Harry wasn't very skilled in the female department; he made that very clear last year with the whole Cho Chang incident.

When the girls left a short while later, Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione, looking baffled. He raked a hand through his hair.

"That went…well," he said.

"Blimey, Harry! There's so many people trying out for the team this year," said Ron. "I don't know if I'm going to –"

"Ron, you are so _dense_!" said Hermione impatiently. "Haven't we gone over this already? People only care not because of what happened at the Ministry. Half the school thinks that Harry is the Chosen One and – don't interrupt me when I'm talking, Harry – besides, those girls weren't even in Gryffindor."

"They weren't? I couldn't even tell," said Ron, now staring after the direction the girls had gone.

"Yes, because red and blue and _such_ similar colours. Anyway, Harry was only saying the practice was on Sunday to make them leave, weren't you?"

"Actually, I already cleared it up with McGonagall," said Harry. "Any day would've been fine, but she said that Sunday was going to have the perfect Quidditch conditions."

"Maybe we can go test the fields on Saturday," said Ron.

"Yeah, good idea Ron."

Hermione stared at the boys. Here they go again, on and on about Quidditch. As if they didn't have enough to worry about, especially since their N.E.W.T classes were proving to be harder than anyone had expected.

"I thought," said Hermione pretentiously, "that we were reserving Sundays as revision days."

"Oh, what's one Sunday?" said Ron. "We've got the rest of the year."

"That's what you said _last _Sunday, and the Sunday before that, and the Sunday before that," she reminded them.

"But this is Quidditch!"

"I should think that your education is more important that Quidditch. When the season starts, you'll be having practises at least four times a week and have even less time for you homework, let alone revision!"

"More – than – important – Quidditch…" sputtered Ron. "Harry, are you hearing this?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Hermione, we know you care about our grades and stuff but this is Quidditch. I'd really like to have the cup, especially with two years left. If we win this year and next year, I think I'd want an album of Malfoy's face."

"So, you're giving up your future to see Malfoy angry?" asked Hermione.

"N.E.W.T.s aren't until next year. There'll be lots of time," said Harry.

Hermione shook her head and stood up. She wasn't going to argue with either of them anymore.

"I'm going to find Slughorn," she said, looking at both of them strictly. "I need to finish that assignment he gave us."

"Are you coming with us to visit Hagrid later?" asked Ron.

"Maybe," replied Hermione.

Before Harry or Ron could reply, she grabbed her books and stalked out of the Hall.

"What's with her?" said Ron's voice.

If Hermione hadn't been in such a hurry to find Slughorn, she would've hexed him in a second.

* * *

><p>By the time Hermione left Slughorn's private bedroom, it was well past midnight.<p>

She hadn't planned on staying that long. When she knocked on Slughorn's door after dinner, she was expecting to be in and out within ten minutes. However, when she entered his study, familiar because of all of the Slug Club meetings, she found that it was occupied with other Slug Club members. Apparently, they were having a casual "get together", or so they called it. She would have been okay with staying if Harry or Ginny were there, but they were absent and Hermione endured wasted hours in the presence of Cormac McLaggen, Blaise Zabini and such. Now, four hours later, Hermione decided that it had not been worth it because, as Slughorn had just told her, the Potions classroom was open for use anytime and extras from the leftover potion were free to use in a cauldron at the front of the class. He had told the class but while she was absent for part of that period, Malfoy was there the entire time yet failed to tell her.

With her excusal slip clutched tight in her Hand, Hermione wandered the hallways, in no hurry to return to the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron would be waiting and she was in no mood to deal with Ron's sour attitude towards any mention of the Slug Club.

Fast-paced footsteps caught up with her from behind and Hermione breathed a sigh of annoyance. She was sure it was Cormac McLaggen; he had pestered her about walking her back to their dorm to ensure her safety after the get-together had ended. Hermione was in her sixth year, an accomplished witch, knowing more defensive spells (thanks to the DA) than Cormac would probably ever know. Why would she need someone to walk her to her dorm for?

Hermione turned around blindly and said, "For the last time, I don't need you to walk me back to my dorm."

"Who said I wanted to walk you anywhere?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She was wrong; it wasn't Cormac trailing behind her. It was Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

Malfoy sneered.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said.

"I've got an excusal slip," said Hermione smugly, waving the piece of paper in his face.

"Oh bravo. Do you want a trophy or something?"

"Don't change the topic, Malfoy. What are you doing out in the halls so late?"

"You shouldn't meddle in people's private business when it doesn't concern you," he snapped.

Hermione barely opened her mouth when Malfoy shouldered her and kept on walking.

"It's my business when I'm a Prefect," she called after him. "How about thirty points from Slytherin?"

She didn't think that would stop him, but it did.

"You think you're so big, don't you?" he jeered. "Being friends with Potter, being considered – what do they call you now? Right – the "brightest witch of our year", being a Prefect… you think that means anything?"

Hermione lifted her chin and looked appraisingly at Malfoy.

"That's hardly the point," she said coolly.

Malfoy took four long strides and stood from Hermione less than her arm's length away. He looked down contemptuously at her. Hermione had never really noticed how much taller he was.

"That is the point," he said. "It's the point because no matter what you are, I don't take orders from filthy Mudbloods."

"Sticks are stones may break my bones, Malfoy, but –"

"My words will never hurt you?" Malfoy laughed. "Stupid things you Muggles come up with. Of course my words can hurt you, and you know that."

Hermione knew what he was implying – the Unforgivable Curses, and any other curse meant to do harm. She had the honour of experiencing some and was not anxious to re-experience any of them again.

"You wouldn't," she said in disbelief.

"It's not your place to tell me what I would and wouldn't do," said Malfoy.

He took one slow step forward and reached into his pocket for his wand. Hermione took one step back, and reached for her wand as well.

"Besides, you _did_ hex me first. It would be hypocritical of you to tell me that I don't get to hex you back."

"Two wrongs don't make a right."

Hermione backed up slowly. She hadn't got out her want yet. She cursed herself for wearing such thick robes. It wasn't even that cold out and what had it gotten her? Not being able to find her wand, that's what.

"Only you can do wrong then?"

"You've done plenty, Malfoy," said Hermione. Her fingers brushed the wood of her wand. Bingo!

"That was before and – _Accio wand!_ – it doesn't count."

Hermione's wand flew out of her pocket and landed gracefully in Malfoy's free hand.

"I think," he said, examining her wand with fake interest, "that I deserve a fair shot. Don't you?"

Coolness touched her hands and Hermione realized she had backed up into the wall. Malfoy hadn't let this go unnoticed, for he smirked and took another step towards her. Maybe she should have let Cormac walk her, after all.

"What are you doing to do?"

Hermione kept her voice calm; she was determined not to let him scare her.

"I don't know yet. Any suggestions?" Malfoy took another step towards her. Two more steps and he would be right in front of Hermione.

"If you keep coming closer you won't be able to hex me properly," Hermione told him.

Somehow, the thought wasn't as settling as she had hoped. What was settling was the fact that the two wands were almost within her reach. If he kept coming closer, if he was distracted enough, she could get them both.

"I find that some curses work better up close," said Malfoy, taking another step.

"You…"

Malfoy looked at her daringly.

"You do know that I'll be screaming with pain," she said. "Someone will hear."

"Now that you mention it, that could be easily fixed. _Silen_—"

Stretching out her hands, Hermione snatched both wands out of his hand. The unfinished Malfoy cast flew off the tip of his wand and hit a wall-light on the other side of the hall. It tottered on its hanging for a second and then fell to the floor with a loud resounding noise.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Surely someone would hear that.

It seemed as thought Malfoy was thinking the same thing because he looked around furtively.

"Scared you'll get caught doing bad things?" said Hermione, confident now that she had both wands.

"Oh, I don't think people would mind that much, me getting rid of a Mudblood. Maybe I'll get a trophy," he said.

"Shut up, Malfoy. You might as well leave me alone now, there's nothing you can do."

"Why? Because you've got my wand?"

Hermione straightened herself up and met his eyes.

"Obviously," she said.

He laughed and in a split second, grabbed her wrists and slammed them against the wall, pinning them above her. The wands fell to the floor and rolled off into an unreachable distance.

"Now you don't either," he said, grinning devilishly.

Hermione's heart thudded loudly against her rib cage. There has got to be _someone_ roaming the halls. She opened her mouth the scream and felt Malfoy's grip on one hand loosen, claming her mouth shut instead. No sound she made would travel far in the wide hallway.

Glaring at him, Hermione squirmed and bit down hard on whatever skin she could reach. She felt her teeth break the skin and land in soft, salty flesh.

Malfoy released her in an instant.

"You _bit_ me," he said accusingly.

Hermione smirked.

"Can't do much without your wand, can you Malfoy?"

She blinked once and Malfoy was pressed back up against her, once again silencing her with his hand.

"If you're talking about inflicting damage, there's a lot I can do without magic."

Hermione brought up her free hand, which was hanging limp at her side and pushed his as hard as her could. To her dismay, Malfoy didn't budge and, quite the opposite, moved closer.

"Mudblood as you are, you should know what I'm talking about."

The screams she was sounding dispersed into the atmosphere. There was no one. She should have definitely let Cormac walk her.

"This is almost too easy," whispered Malfoy in her ear.

There was nothing she could do and she knew it. Hermione turned away and closed her eyes. Just let it be over, God just it be over. Harry and Ron would come. She knew they would; it would be at least past two now.

Her hands were useless being gathered at her chest from her effort to push him away.

"Nothing else to say?" said Malfoy tauntingly.

Hermione kept her eyes shut.

"It might be a good thing. No one has touched you before, have they?"

She shook her head. Someone had; Viktor Krum. Hermione didn't know what was happening at the time but it felt good, so good.

"Of course they haven't," said Malfoy, misinterpreting Hermione's head shake. "Wouldn't want to be dirtied. But me...I'm getting something out of it."

His free hand snaked under her robes and pressed against her waist.

"We'll have fun."

Hermione's stomach clenched and she squirmed. It was a bad idea, she realized after when the hem of her shirt rode up, exposing skin. How many times had Harry been caught wandering the halls at night? Where were the teachers now that Hermione needed them?

"You can fight if you want," he laughed.

He shifted his hand and pressed Hermione harder against the wall. He wasn't as heavy as she had expected and the pressure was almost…pleasant. The ball in her stomach exploded into a fit of butterflies. Unwillingly, her muscles relaxed and she slumped against the wall. It was because she had given up, Hermione told herself. Never mind comparing the feeling to when Viktor had touched her.

Malfoy picked at the belt loop of her pants and when his finger grazed the bare skin just below her stomach, Hermione's pulse went wild. It was crazy absolute madness from the very core.

Feather-light, his finger brushed her skin again and her stomach clenched again. She shifted against his hand and Hermione couldn't help herself. She let out a low moan, muffled, but she was sure he heard it.

"Are you – are you enjoying this?" he said, hands unmoving now. His silvery eyes were searching hers in confusion. This had not been the reaction that he was expecting, obviously.

_Yeah, how would you like it if I started touching you_, thought Hermione heatedly.

She smiled slightly. No, he wouldn't like it. But he was a guy, wasn't he? Could he resist?

With all her effort, she wiggled her arms free from her chest and let them slide down to his hips. In one quick movement, her fingers clipped his pockets and pulled him towards her.

"What the fuck are you – oh." Malfoy stopped short; Hermione had just jutted her hips to his.

Taking her window of opportunity in his surprise, Hermione moved her hand around the waist of his pants and smoothed her fingers over his skin. Malfoy stood perfectly still, which was fine with Hermione, one hand still clamped over her's mouth and the other resting on her hip. A taste of his own medicine.

Hermione's fingers brushed over the front of his pants and Malfoy jumped back. She didn't move. She didn't know what she was doing. She knew what she _should _be doing – she _should_ be running. He had let her go, something that she was just praying for him to do minutes ago, yet she wasn't moving. And her mind…her mind wasn't working properly at all. All she could think about was the feel of his fingers and she hated it. She hated _him_, didn't she?

Malfoy stared at her, breathing hard. "You –"

Blinded by want, Hermione walked up to him and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. She was never the master of seduction, but there were many things Viktor had done that she was sure would work on Malfoy as well. She stood on her tip-toes; he was so much taller. He was unresponsive until her hand bunched up the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to her.

"Stop!"

He pushed her away with such force that Hermione slammed against the wall. The back of her head throbbed with pain and she stared at him. Her vision was slightly blurred and in the dark, she couldn't make out his expression but she knew he was staring back at her. Maybe it was in disgust. Wasn't he always disgusted by her filthy Mudblood-ness?

"I'm sorry," she said in an indifferent tone. She didn't feel indifferent, but he couldn't know that.

She didn't know what she was sorry for. Sorry for irritating him? No, she liked that. Sorry for being smarter than him? No, she liked that. Sorry for touching him, for kissing him? No, she definitely liked that.

"You're _sorry_?" repeated Malfoy. It sounded as though he had the same doubts.

"Yes!" Was he going to make her say it again? She didn't do apologies. Why would she? She was always rights. "I – am – sor—"

Her sentence was left unfinished. Malfoy stepped forward and closed the space between them, crashing his lips to hers. His hands rested on her waist and they pulled her as close as she could to him. Hermione's head felt dizzy. She clung onto his shoulders as if her life depended on it. All thoughts of reason were gone from her head, because, really, who needed reason at a time like this?

His hands wound inside her robes and gently caressed her bare skin and Hermione's legs turned to water. She clambered against the wall, trying to stay standing, trying to get closer. Her hands ran across his chest, earning her a shiver and she felt the pressure of his hand tighten against her waist.

Malfoy groaned.

"I –"

Their frantic hands stopped dead. Echoing of footsteps sounded down the deserted hallway, followed by a faint "Anybody there?"

"Who's that?" Hermione whispered, eyes still closed. She felt cool air slip under her shirt and she knew that Malfoy had released her. When he didn't answer, she cracked open an eyelid. In the dim light, she mad out his silhouette walking briskly away, wand in hand. When did he do that?

"Malfoy! Hey!" she called, chasing after him. Once she caught up to him, Hermione reached out to grab his arm. Her fingers just barely touches the fabric of his robs and he turned around, flinging her into the wall.

"Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again," he said desperately. His face was paler than usually and sweat glistened off his forehead. The usual rigid composure he always held was stiffer than ever and the look in his eyes was an instead mix of self-loathing, hate, and confusion. "Don't."

Standing in shock, Hermione watched as he resumed walking down the hall, almost in a run. He was always too good for running.

She was still in the same position when Cormac ran up to her. She must've looked like such a sight – clothes rumpled, hair messy, face flushed and lips swollen, by herself – and so disoriented. Certainly, she felt disoriented. Part of her understood what had just happened and the other part didn't. She had kissed a Slytherin. Not any Slytherin. _The_ Slytherin that her, Harry and Ron were determined to hate. That was the fact. The other fact was that she had thoroughly enjoyed herself and by Malfoy's reactions, so did he and that was wrong. But it wasn't wrong either.

"You okay?" asked Cormac.

Hermione nodded and bent down to get her wand. "I'm fine. Really," she said when she saw his look of scepticism. "What time is it?"

"Almost three."

His tone gave her the slight impression that he wanted her to ask why he was out of bed at three in the morning. Probably to boast about being a rebel or some other useless thing. She really didn't care. Her eyes widened and she broke down into a run down the hall, leaving a bewildered Cormac behind. There were classes tomorrow and she needed her sleep. She wasn't exactly the friendliest person when she suffered from sleep deprivation and the fact that the elves at Hogwarts didn't make coffee in the morning was truly unhelpful to the matter.

"Slow down!" Cormac called after her.

Hermione ignored him and continued her run, hopping up the stairs. "If you want to explain to McGonagall why you were out of bed at three in the morning, by all means, slow right down," she threw over her shoulder.

The Gryffindor common room never seemed so far. Perhaps it was because she was coming from almost the dungeon, or perhaps it was because she dreaded going back. Harry and Ron would be waiting for sure. At a time like this, not returning at three in the morning was a bad sigh. It was a wonder that they hadn't alerted the professors already.

At last, the Fat Lady's portrait came into sight. Somewhere along the way, Hermione had lost Cormac behind her.

"Nimbus mununculus," she panted.

She held her hand up against the wall for support; hours spent sitting in the library didn't offer great physical endurance.

The Fat Lady yawned and looked sleepily at her.

"So late out of bed? Been naughty, have we?"

"Nimbus mununculus," said Hermione again.

"Alright, alright."

The portrait-hole opened and she stepped into the common room. Sure enough, Harry and Ron, accompanied by Ginny, were sitting in the armchairs in front of the fire. When they saw her, they jumped to their feet at once.

"Hermione!" said Harry. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Harry," said Hermione.

"Where were you?" he pressed on. "Ginny came back from the meeting ages ago."

"Ginny came – oh, did she?" said Hermione, half-amusedly when Ginny threw her a warning look.

"We were almost going to send McGonagall to look for you," said Ron. "What on earth were you –"

The portrait-hole behind them swung open again and Cormac hopped out, looking slightly winded.

"You know, Hermione, for a girl, you sure run fast," he said, laughing.

An awkward silence settled in the room and before anyone could say anything else, Hermione turned on her heel and walked up the stairs to her dorm.

"Goodnight everybody," she said briskly.

The door closed behind her and Hermione let out a breath of relief. She gladly accepted the comfort of her bed and sunk into her covers. Thinking over what had just happened, she realized with dread that she had forgotten to set a time to finish their assignment with Malfoy. No, all they had done was argued and then…

Hermione shook her head. It was a mistake. She knew that now. It was a mistake on her and mostly his part. It was late and dark and she had just come from a horribly long session of the Slug Club and she wasn't thinking properly. And he made her forget about homework. That was not acceptable.

Feeling too lazy to change into her pyjamas or get ready for bed, she flipped the blanket over her and turned on her side. It was definitely a mistake and Hermione decided that, no, she was not going to let Draco Malfoy get under her skin, or shirt, ever again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : i was feeling a bit stuck on the dramione part (i dont know why) so i left it off for a few days. and then i met none other than tom felton on sunday, so i was inspired to write again. i still feel really dazed about what happened on sunday. i mean he was RIGHT THERE. but yeah. hope you liked this chapter! thanks for reading and if you could, please review :D <strong>


	7. Chapter 7

A hard thump smacked Draco on the head and he work up with a start. The familiar surrounding of the library greeted him and he was at peace until a shrill shrieking erupted from beside him.

"Have you been here all night?" screeched Madam Pince, her vulture like features glaring at Draco.

"What?" said Draco, feeling disoriented.

"I asked you a simple question, boy. Have you been here all night?"

Draco looked around at the books piled around him and one which was open in his lap. There was a stiff knot in his neck and he was sure that he had fallen asleep here. He didn't have too many chances to go to the library the past few days and when he had come last night, he was immediately reminded of what he had missed. By the looks of it, the library was completely empty, not even a Ravenclaw in sight. It must've been early.

"Yeah, I suppose I fell asleep and was here all night," Draco concluded, more to himself than the librarian.

Madam Pince must've took it as a cheeky retort because she smacked Draco across the head with the thick book she had used the first time (was she even allowed to do that?).

"Out!" she yelled, pointing towards the exit. "Get out!"

"But –"

"Don't make me call Mr Filch in here.

Draco grabbed his bag and stumbled down the aisle, wincing in pain from two very hard hits to the head.

"What's Filch going to do?" he said over his shoulder. "Sweep me to death?"

The sound of a book hitting the wall echoed behind him and he turned a corner just as Madam Pince exploded into a fit of rage. He did leave behind a tall stack of books that he didn't re-shelf.

"_Ungrateful – little –_"

The large mahogany doors slammed shut and Draco was immersed in silence again. The halls were completely vacant. He wondered just how early Madam Pince had woken him. It was clearly no later than just past sun rise, he knew that, because the light peering through the windows cast long shadows upon everything and the birds outside sang relentlessly.

He was on his way past the Great Hall when the smell of fresh eggs and bacon hit him. His stomach rumbled fervently, something he had been trying to ignore. Draco felt his feet steer into the hall and he had no choice; he was famished.

Only a couple of students littered the long tables. It was almost a tradition at Hogwarts for students to sleep past breakfast and sometimes past lunch on the weekends. Draco was one of them. This was the first time he had eaten breakfast in the Great Hall on a Sunday since the start of term. To his dismay, Blaise Zabini was seated in the near empty Slytherin table, quietly reading. The rest was scattered with tittering first years and a couple of losers (Draco didn't know how they slithered their way into his most prestigious house). Without a second option (sitting along was _not_ an option), Draco trudged over and sat down beside Blaise.

"Draco," greeted Blaise with a slight nod.

"Surprised to see me?" said Draco, not missing the minor surprise on the other wizard's face.

"Of course not. I always knew you were too good to be a night owl."

Draco looked at Blaise with distaste. He didn't even know what the bloke was going on about half the time and truthfully, he didn't want to know. Being all wise and knowing makes one sound like a righteous prick.

"You didn't sleep in your bed last night," said Blaise airily.

Draco smirked.

"Missed me, Zabini?"

"I can hardly say that. I was just wondering where you might have been. Astoria left her dorm alone this morning."

"I can't always be with Astoria, now can I?" said Draco. In fact, he would rather never be with her. Astoria turned out to be more high-maintenance than Draco could handle and his plan was that if he ignored her for a period of time, she would get the hint and move on.

Blaise studied him for a moment.

"Does she know that?" he said impassively.

"Does it matter? She's the one that wants me," said Draco.

"And you want someone else."

Draco stared at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he said crossly.

Blaise didn't answer and his gaze flickered to something behind him. Draco turned around to see what caught Blaise's attention and instantly wished he hadn't.

It was Granger, walking down the length of the Gryffindor table, talking heatedly with Potter and Weasley. It looked as though they were both telling her something that she disagreed with, and judging by her expression, she wasn't going to back down.

For a split second, her eyes met Draco's and flicked away immediately. She said something and Potter and Weasley were about to argue but didn't get a chance because she turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the Great Hall.

Draco watched as the tail of her robes disappeared behind the door and found himself getting more and more annoyed by the second. What was her problem? Ever since their…encounter, for lack of a better word, four days ago, she had been avoiding him. And by avoiding, he meant _avoiding_. They hadn't had a single Potions class yet, and in the other few classes Slytherin shared with Gryffindor, Granger would be in the door at the last minute before the lesson started and the first out the door when it ended. There wasn't a single time he saw her in the halls (he suspected she had the help of Potter's special map) and he remembered seeing her only twice in the Great Hall: once for lunch, and once for breakfast, both of which she made absolutely no eye contact and fled as soon as her plate was clear.

The whole situation was infuriating. If anyone, it should be Draco who was avoiding her. She was the one who attacked him! He didn't even know what she was on. One minute they were arguing and the next, she was all over him like a second Astoria. Granted, her hands were more controlled, and she wasn't as demanding, and it was obvious she was way more skilled and her –

_No_.

Draco mentally slapped himself. He wasn't going to think about that now. God knows he gets all hot and bothered whenever he relives that night. Twice already he's had to help himself and he hated it. As if he didn't have enough problems on his hands.

The only explanation he found for himself was because he was left unsatisfied for too long. Astoria was Astoria and Draco didn't need to explain to anyone how annoying she was in company. Pansy was out of bounds. They had tried the friends with benefits thing once, and it ended _horribly_. Now they were back to being just friends and Draco liked it much better. All the other girls were either airheads or hated Draco too much. It was a big dilemma – should he deal with his hormones like every other sad, average Joe, or should he use and abuse his charm, but sacrifice a day or two with a total bimbo?

No matter how much he tried to think around it, things always wound its way back to Granger. She didn't seem unwillingly. She was the complete opposite, taking Draco by immense surprise and he wanted to know why. Over the past years, she made it very clear how much she hated him, yet with the recent turn of events, everything was murky water again. Draco was used to knowing everything, including how girls worked. But this one had him befuddled.

"Excuse me," he said, standing up, still staring at the empty doorway.

Blaise grinned and nodded. He had an odd twinkle in his eye like he knew something but Draco didn't have the patience to get into it. Bumbling fool would get it someday.

Draco raced out of the Great Hall and stared at the hallway in front of him. She had only been gone for a few minutes and couldn't have gone far, unless she ran. Even still, she wasn't much of an athlete. Her legs wouldn't carry her far. Hopefully.

Moving at a speedy pace, Draco sped down the hall, keeping his eye out for any movements. For all he knew, Granger could just be hiding behind a Disillusion charm. There was a slight waver of movement in front of him and Draco thought he caught her when Slughorn walked into the hallway,.

"Ah, Draco!" he said brightly. "I was just looking for you!"

"You were?" said Draco in disbelief.

It was a known fact that Slughorn had already hand picked his favourites in the sixth-years and an even more known, surprising to the other students, irritating to Draco, fact that he was not one of them.

"Yes, m'boy," said Slughorn. "I wanted to talk to you about your Potions project."

"Oh…yeah…about that –"

"No need to worry, no need to worry! There is still plenty of time. I simply wished to remind you that you should start on your potion with Miss Granger soon. She told me that yours accidentally rolled off the table?"

"Rolled of the… – right, yes. Sorry about that, professor."

Slughorn shook his head and patted Draco on the shoulder.

"No need to worry!" he said. "Professor Snape did suggest I use rectangular tubes. Anyways, you might want to take a crack at it before the other students get too far. You have already set a date with Miss Granger?"

"No actually, I haven't," said Draco, keeping his voice cool.

"Strange, she had asked me when the Potions room was free and I was under the impression that she was going to use it today, perhaps you two just missed each other and she was unable to tell you."

They had missed each other all right, though on multiple occasions and entirely at Granger's doing.

Draco smiled and nodded.

"Thank you professor," he said and set off for the Potions classroom.

He doubted that Granger would be there. It was the Gryffindor Quidditch team tryouts and she surely wouldn't miss that.

Realization dawned on him.

Of _course_ she would if it meant not having to complete the potion with him.

It was a brilliant plan. She knew that Draco knew that she would be at the tryouts instead of working on their assignment and wouldn't bother looking for her. Even if he didn't, the Quidditch field would be crowded with people and he wouldn't have a chance near her. _And_ (knowing her, there would be a plan B), she knew, or at least hope, because there was no way Draco would be doing this, that even if he suspected her, he would be too busy disturbing the Gryffindors during the their Quidditch session to bother with her.

Draco smiled. It was well thought out and if he hadn't figured her out, he would probably be down at the field as she had predicted, laughing his arse off at Weasley and his pathetic- ness. But Draco was smarter, cleverer, and Granger's plan was out of the game.

He moved quickly through the halls. When he reached the Potions room, the door was slightly ajar and there was soft whispering coming from inside.

"Five drops of Murtlap essence, six snake fangs, a dash of wolfsbane…"

Draco pushed the door open slightly and saw her hovering over the bubbling cauldron, muttering to herself while adding ingredients. Her hands were flying all over the place and her hair was falling apart from its tie-up. This was not meant to be a single person assignment; it was impossible to cut and stir at the same time. He wondered at what lengths she would go to avoid him and how angry she would be when she saw him.

Never one to back down from such an enticing challenge, Draco leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms.

"Do you always talk yourself when you're making potions?" he said mockingly.

The wand in Granger's hand dropped and her head snapped up. It was plain and simple to see that see that Draco's theory was correct. She had not been expecting him. Not at all.

"What are you going here?" she said accusingly, as if he did something wrong.

"At least _try_ to sound like you're pleased to see me," said Draco, walking towards the table.

She glared at him and without another word, resumed her potion-making.

"I saw Slughorn on the way here," continued Draco. "He said that I ought to help you."

He was being ignored, but he knew that she was well aware of him – her hands were shaking.

"He didn't know that you wanted to work alone. Neither did I." Draco smiled. "I was actually under the impression that you'd prefer it if we did it together."

"I – I didn't know I gave you that impression," said Granger, trying to keep her composure.

Draco laughed.

"Are you seriously this naïve or are you just acting stupid?" he said. "Personally, I think it's the latter. We both know how _un-naïve_ you are."

She took a deep breath and frowned.

"Listen, Malfoy," she said, in a calculating tone. "I don't know what you're talking about but –"

"So you're pretending that it didn't happen?" said Draco irately.

That was _not_ how it was going to go. She couldn't possibly think that she could just do what she did and go on in her life as if nothing happened. He wanted to know why. After all the confusion for four days, for ninety-six hours, he deserved to know why.

"No –" she began.

Draco relaxed a little.

"– I'm not pretending because nothing happened."

His anger rose. Any teasing he had was gone and all he wanted to do was walk up and shake some sense into her. Was she as unaffected as she was letting on? She couldn't be. Draco didn't need to be a girl to know how he was to the ladies. None of them ever denied him or his abilities and Granger was not going to be a special case.

"You –"

"Mudblood? Filthy excuse of magic? Give me your worst."

The familiarity of the conversation amused him and instead of snapping back like she expected him to, Draco grinned. Sure he was still angry, more than angry, but unlike her, he had the capacity to control what he was feeling to get what he wanted.

"Remember how this conversation ended last time?" he said, smiling cynically.

Her hard expression faltered for a second. So she did remember.

"I don—"

"If you're going to say that you don't know what I'm talking about, you might as well save your breath," said Draco without delay. "You _know _what I'm talking about."

She didn't reply and continued to stare at him with a cold glare.

"Or," said Draco, "do you need a reminder?"

It was silent. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it, then closed it again and returned to shooting daggers at him from her eyes.

He laughed and took a step towards her.

"What are you going to do?" she said, watching his movements carefully.

He took another step towards her. Her foot fumbled and she leaned against the desk behind her. Trapped.

"Nothing you don't want me to do."

Draco stopped inches in front of her. She was pressing against the table behind her so hard, he thought it would give in and collapse.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked, not breaking eye contact.

Granger swallowed thickly and suddenly darted away.

With this Seeker reflexes, Draco grabbed her before she even took her third step and pulled her back against the desk.

"Tell me why," he demanded.

Her wide eyes searched his face and he could feel her beating pulse under his grip. She seemed to have realized that fighting was useless. The cornered expression on her face turned smug and she squared her shoulders.

"Why did you kiss me back?" she said, pursing her lips.

Draco was stunned. This was not a question he was prepared to answer. He didn't know the answer in the first place. Still, the fact that she acknowledged it was progress. Slow, but progress.

"I thought you were going to pretend that it didn't happen," he said.

"Well, you clearly weren't going to let me do that, so there was obviously no point."

"Then tell me."

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because!"

Granger wrenched her arm from Draco's grasp and crossed her arms.

"Because?" she repeated in contempt.

Draco sighed in annoyance.

"Just because."

Why couldn't she just tell him so he could have some peace of mind? He just wanted to know. If she told him, he would leave her alone.

Hot, fresh images of the night in the hall flew through his mind and Draco shivered, not from the cold. Then again, if she told him, and what she told him was what he didn't want to hear, he wasn't sure he would leave her alone. Merlin, they hadn't even had sex and he was already wanting seconds.

Granger was unconvinced, to say the least.

"There has to be a reason," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Taking another step forward, Draco slammed his fist on the table behind her.

"Fuck, Granger! There doesn't have to be a reason for everything!" he said in frustration.

"Then you don't need to know!"

"Yes – I – do."

"Why?"

Draco pushed himself back and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Because!" he said desperately. "Because I can't stop thinking about it and it's driving me insane. I feel like a fucking nutcase."

"Poor you," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Don't you habe some other girl, lets say an unknowing Hufflepuff, that can help you with your needs?"

Draco took a few deeps breaths and closed his eyes. So much for having the capacity to control his feelings. Him screaming at her wasn't going to work; she was just going to throw everything he said back in his face. He had known it from the smart, but he didn't have another approach.

How had it worked last time?

_Right_.

He seduced her.

Didn't her already try that?

But it didn't work because he got too angry. It wasn't his fault, really. She was just too irritating. He had to be patient. That was it. Just patience.

He counted slowly down from ten and re-opened his eyes.

"The problem is," he said as calmly as he could, "I don't want just any girl."

"W-wonderful, problem solved then," said Granger. She couldn't disguise her surprise in Draco's self-control. "No one can 'satisfy your needs' or whatever, but it turns out you don't have any."

Draco had to remind himself to keep his cool. He moved forward, closing their distance again.

"Ah, but I didn't say that, now did I?" he said, almost laughing at her building unease.

"What sort of game are you playing here, Malfoy?" she said warily.

His lips twitched. "Why do you want to know?"

She stared at him. The space between them was down to a few inches. It was the same proximity that led to what happened the other night and Draco knew it. She knew it.

"You are insufferable," said Granger in a weak attempt of a snarl. She was unable to keep her eyes stationary and they trailed further down Draco's face. Her shoulders slumped and the tight-knit stance she had was slowly melting away. Try as she might, it was useless to deny that she wanted him. Or, at least, her body did.

"No," said Draco quietly, securing his hands on either side of her against the table. "_You're_ insufferable."

Not giving her any chance to respond, Draco bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

He was soft at first, but when she offered no sign of reaction, he gathered his arms arm her and pulled her close. The obvious height difference lifted her off the ground and groaned in protest, squirming under him. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, and when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, the groan quickly turned into a moan.

It was no longer a one player game. Slowly and surely she became more aware of her senses and her hands wound their way into his hair. Her fingers grabbed the light-golden locks and Draco growled deep in his throat.

Bloody _hell_, she felt magnificent. He hadn't been aware of how wonderful she felt the first time but now it was all he could feel. The curves at her hips, and the rise of her breasts pressed against his chest drove him insane. At that moment he couldn't even remember why he had hated her all of those years.

His hands fumbled underneath her sweater and teased the soft skin of her hips. She let out another moan and kissed him again harder, arching her back off the table into him.

Draco let his hands travel further up, brushing the ridges of her rib cage and settling underneath the curve of her bra. Just as his one hand cupped the mound, drawing out a delicate whimper, the knob of the classroom door jingled.

Faster than lightning, he was pushed back into the table behind him. He looked at the door to see Potter strolling in. When he glanced back at Granger, she was already stirring the potion with one hand and fixing her hair with the other, breathing frantically.

"Malfoy," said Potter, casting one glare and then fixing his attention to Granger.

"Potter," mumbled Draco, pulling his sweater into shape.

"Harry," said Granger in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink and her eyes were dazed. She didn't look at Draco. "I thought you had Quidditch."

"Yeah, well it turns out Snape already booked the field. For _Ravenclaw_," said Potter bitterly. He threw a withering look at Draco, who did not hesitate to throw one back. "What's he doing here? I thought you weren't going to bother with him."

"What him?" Granger played with her hair. "He was just –"

"Here to sort something out," finished Draco. "And as much as I know you enjoy my presence, Potter, I think I've gotten what I needed."

He raised his eyebrows daringly and, picking up his bag, smirked mischievously at Granger. She quickly looked away, picking another few stray strands of hair.

Draco didn't stop walking until he reached his dorm. Thankfully, it was unoccupied and he locked the door with a flick of his wand. He laid down slowly onto his bed and stared at the top of his four-poster bed. Green and silver.

They had kissed. Again. And it was even better than he imagined. _She_ was even better than he imagined. He groaned and turned face-down on his bed. There was going to be a couple more sleepless nights, unless he found a way to get her again, or she came to get him, the more probable result being that she would go back to avoiding him until he was desperate and raw enough to go search for her.

And if it wasn't for Potter, that room would have stayed empty except for the two of then and who knew what would've happened. Well, Draco knew what he wanted to have happened and it just could've. How many times had Potter ruined something for Draco? Too many. Fucking Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Draco always has to blame someone for his problems, doesn't he? School is starting again and I'm not sure how often I'll update but I'll try to keep it still every week. I'll probably be writing everywhere on my iPod, haha.  
><strong>** And for Kyoko Mogami who asked for the details on how I met Tom Felton, you can read about it here: **_**.com/post/9528058143**___**just because it's quite lengthy and I don't want to add that much stuff to the Author's Note.**

**Anyways, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Please also review this chapter and let me know what you think c: **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I had a bit of a struggle with this chapter****, with school starting and then a writer's block. It was horrible. **

**So, I'm not _too_ fond of this chapter, but I hope it's at least okay. Anyways, happy reading and PLEASE review! **

**c:**

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><p>Many times throughout his years at Hogwarts, it seemed like the weather surrounding the school mirrored Draco's exact feelings. For the greater part of his current year, the sky was dark and the atmosphere rainy. Although, for all he knew, it could've been the Dementors and their incessant breeding. He wasn't sure which he wanted to believe. It was either he had to admit how miserable he really was, or that there were more of those hooded nightmares growing somewhere out there.<p>

Draco fiddled with the quill in his hand nervously and flipped another page, not bothering to read the new contents.

He supposed it didn't matter. With the Mark on his arm, they couldn't touch him. At least he hoped they couldn't touch him. They were under Voldemort's command, sure, but then again, what does he have against them? Dementors couldn't, to Draco's knowledge, be killed, tortured, harmed or anything of that sort. Entrusting the creatures was like making a deal with the devil.

No.

Getting the Mark was making a deal with the devil.

It also occurred to him that somewhere along the way of his six and counting years at Hogwarts, things were changing for him. He could vaguely remember the days when he thought a simple owl to his father would solve all his problems and that child's play would get him anywhere. Maybe it was part of growing up. Maybe it was the slow realization of where all that had gotten him: _nowhere_. That would be an appropriate answer. No-fucking-where with his entire delicate life in the hands of a madman.

He shouldn't have said, _thought_, that. Perhaps _he_ would hear it, skilled Legilimens as he is. But then again, at the rate of where everything was heading, Draco would end of dead sooner or later, sooner being the more plausible outcome. And with the state of things, he could hardly care less either way. That brings him back to miserable he really was. How miserable he was that he didn't even care if he would wake up tomorrow or not.

A trail of giggles erupted in the silence. Draco threw down his quill and slammed his book shut.

"Fucking first-years," he mumbled, shooting a glare at the large group huddle around the oak table beside his. His glower was weak: only a few cringed and looked away. It was annoying. Even if it wasn't the world's deadliest glare, they should have been cowering with fear. He was _Draco Malfoy_ for God's sakes.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Draco ducked under the shelves and inched towards the exit. After the whole episode of falling asleep in the library then getting himself thrown out, he wasn't sure he was still welcome. Frankly, he didn't want to find out, which is why he had to resort to sneaking around.

Sometimes he wondered whether or not it would've been better at Durmstrang. His father always spoke highly of that school. Then again, when was anything Lucius Malfoy said ever liable anymore?

Still, if he had gone to Durmstrang … There would be no Potter, no bratty Gryffindors, no useless Hufflepuffs, no self-righteous Ravenclaws, no Dumbledore … No Dumbledore and no task from Voldemort and no trying to fix a cabinet he couldn't even bloody find and no Weasley – any of them – and no Granger. And no Granger.

Draco felt an odd constricting sensation in his chest. He thought of walking in the school halls without seeing her unkempt mane, sitting in class without having to listen to her know-it-all attitude, eating during meal-times without taunting her with his mocking looks every once in a while. It was odd to think about.

Sure, he would find someone else to torment, but Durmstrang was very strict about their student's blood-statuses. Would that be even fun? What else was supposed to amuse him and keep him at least somewhat happy?

_Snap out of it_, he instructed himself. _You can't use _her_ to determine your happiness_.

Of course he couldn't.

Obviously he would be perfectly happy without her. There were loads of things Draco found amusing. Hell, at Durmstrang maybe he'd have real friends instead of Crabbe and Goyle, who were thicker than slabs of concrete. So yes, he would be happy – to an extent, because, honestly, he wasn't sure what happy even felt like anymore.

* * *

><p>"Happy? Of course I'm happy for you, Ron," said Hermione.<p>

Ron put on a face of disbelief and mumbled something along the lines of "Yeah, right."

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her Ancient Runes textbook. Ever since Ron out-flew Cormac at the Quidditch tryouts, he had been going on and on and on about how she wasn't pleased for him because she was just bum about him proving her wrong. She didn't have the energy – or heart – to tell him that it was because of her that he made the team. It was mostly Ron, though. He really was a good flier. It just would've been a hard decision for Harry if they both saved all five goals and Hermione didn't want to put Harry through that.

"And," continued Ron, "I still can't believe you almost missed our tryout!"

"_Almost_ being the keyword, Ron," said Ginny irately. She threw Hermione an understanding smile and went back to eating her lunch.

"Still. She was going to skive off to do Potions homework."

Hermione closed her textbook hastily and focused on Ron, giving him a cold glare. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry turn abruptly to talk to Ginny.

"It didn't even happen that day," she pointed out.

"But what if we did? Then you would have missed it."

"I was making my potion! You know how far behind I was."

Ron was relentless. "Yeah but Malfoy wasn't doing it with you, anyway. It's supposed to be a _partner_ project."

"I told you I was perfectly capable of doing it myself."

How was she supposed to explain to him that she didn't want to work with Malfoy without giving away that she was avoiding him? If either Ron or Harry or even Ginny found out that she was avoiding a certain Slytherin on purpose, they would definitely want to know why and Hermione was a terrible liar. Especially to Ginny. She didn't know if it was just her, but Hermione found that whenever Ginny stared at her, it felt like her soul was being penetrated.

"I don't know why you would want to do it without him," said Ron glumly. "This assignment was so hard, even Harry had trouble with it."

Harry scooted even further down the bench at the mention of his name.

"Yes," said Hermione angrily, "but I don't fancy cheating on my work. And," she quickly added, cutting Ron off, "if you want to know why I don't want to work with Malfoy, maybe it's because he takes every chance he can get trying to make my life a living hell and he never seems to get tired of that and it looks like he's never going to leave me alone. So there! I hope that sums it all up for you!"

Picking up her books angrily, Hermione stood up and stomped out of the Great Hall.

Hermione kept up her pace until she entered a deserted hallway. She was far angrier than she expected, all thanks to Ron. It had taken the utmost effort to not think about Malfoy in her free time and he just couldn't leave the subject alone.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the entire situation she – _they _were in. He had sought her out, even after she kissed him. Yes, she admitted it. She wasn't entirely sure if it was because he actually wanted to get their assignment done of because he was looking for her. Either way, his reaction was the complete opposite of what she expected. Her approach was to pretend like nothing happened. To her, if she acted like it was nothing, he would leave it alone. How wrong she was.

Not only did he want to remember, he wanted to repeat history, and then some. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the same Malfoy, or perhaps someone else using Polyjuice Potion.

And when he kissed her. Sweet Merlin, her knees weakened at the memory. If she ever thought she had any resistance to his lips, she certainly had another thing coming at her. It took no longer than five seconds to persuade her to play along, and it was heaven. Their meeting was short lived, but it was enough to engrave itself into her memory.

She had not seen him since that Sunday, and though it was only two days ago, it seemed like a decade. They had Potions that afternoon and it would be a relief. After he left her in the Potions room, she finished the potion by herself. It was due in the next class anyways, and that would be the end of that. Her seat would remain with Harry and Ron, and Malfoy would go back to the little corner of the room that the Slytherins alone occupied.

That was her plan. And she prayed, _prayed_, that it would play out as she hoped. She was inching into dangerous waters with Malfoy and if she took another step, she just might drown, if she wasn't already.

It wasn't her intention, but somehow Hermione ended up in front of the Potions classroom. It was late enough into lunch that the door was open to any coming students but not early enough for anyone to have decided to go to class yet.

Hermione had one foot across the threshold when she caught sight of a head of platinum blonde and quickly jumped back out soundlessly.

He was there. In the room. All by himself. Was he waiting for her? He couldn't be. How would he have known that she was going to end up there early? He couldn't have – unless he followed her. But he couldn't have done that either: Hermione was sure no one was behind her.

She peeked into the room. He looked different sitting by himself. He looked less…like Malfoy. Maybe in solitude he was never arrogant or superior. His figure was more built, not as lanky as he always looked. Always having Crabbe or Goyle around would make anyone look like a shrimp.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione flinched at the loud outburst at the same time Malfoy's head whipped around and his eyes found hers immediately.

Professor Slughorn smiled cheerily, not knowing he had just blown Hermione's cover, not knowing he had just created an uneasy tension between the two.

"Hi professfor," said Hermione, recovering quickly.

"Come in and take a seat," said Professor Slughorn. "Class isn't due for another fifteen minutes but I could do with some company."

"Mal—Draco's already in there, professor," Hermione pointed out.

"Even better! Well, come on then, don't dawdle."

She couldn't refuse. What was the point? Malfoy already knew she was there and if she made it too obvious she didn't want to see him, it would only provoke him. Her feet pulled grudgingly into the room.

"Now as you know, your potions are due today. If you hand them in right now, I might have it graded before the lesson's over," said Slughorn. "Of course your individual essays will take much longer, but I know how you itch for your marks." He winked at Hermione.

Malfoy glanced quickly at Hermione and opened his mouth to speak. "Sir –"

"That would be great," said Hermione, interrupting him. "Let me get it from my bag."

She pulled a small vial out of her sack carefully and followed up to the front of the class. With careful deliberation, she made sure she didn't drop it by accident. It was her sweat, tears and blood that she poured into this assignment and she was not going to ruin it by making such a clumsy error. That sort of stunt was usually left up to Ron.

After she safely deposited her treasured work, earning her a chorus of praises, Hermione headed for the far left of the room, opposite of where Malfoy was sitting. She could feel his eyes training the back of her head as she walked: she never told him that she finished the potion without him.

Hermione sat down without a sound, pulled out her Potions book and began reading aimlessly through it, doing her best not to look up and meet his intense stare. From the corner of her eye, she saw him rise and heard the sound of a chair scraping the ground. He was halfway across the room when Ron and Harry walked in.

"Blimey, Hermione," said Ron, slightly out of breath. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"Sorry," she said, keeping her line of vision directly at Ron and Harry.

"No, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," said Ron, blushing slightly. "I mean, who cares? At least you made it to the real tryouts!"

"Honestly Ron, it's nothing," replied Hermione. Her previous row with Ron was pushed to the back of her mind, almost forgotten. All she could think about now was Malfoy's eyes still trained on her.

Ron turned around and scowled.

"Malfoy's here?" he said loudly, puffing out his shoulders. "You were right, Hermione. He doesn't leave you alone, does he?"

Hermione blinked and flushed with embarrassment, then anger.

"Ron!"

He ignored her.

"When's that little ferret going to –?"

"Ron, shut up!" Hermione yelled, burying her face into her book. She cast a sideways glance at Harry, who had his mouth open, about to speak, and said, "You too, Harry."

She was well aware of Malfoy still watching her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

Ron and Harry sat down and didn't speak another word. Smart of them to do so.

Hermione's cheeks were burning red and she was sure that he could see that even from across the room. She decided that she was going to keep a low-profile in the class to give one less reason for him to look at her. _Why_ was he still watching her?

One by one, students slowly trickled into class. Taking the positions of Hermione, Ron and Harry as a guide, they all resumed their previous seats and once again, the class was divided: Slytherin versus the rest.

The lesson was long. Double Potions at the start of the week was hardly at the top of Hermione's list of favourite things. It was an interesting enough lesson, however. Slughorn had a way of teaching that, though she was never say it to his face for the feat of detention until her deathbed, was far more enjoyable and therefore more interesting than Snape's.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy's eyes trail to her every so often, but she kept her deadpan on the pages of her textbook. She didn't look up. She didn't answer any questions. It killed it not to be able to raise her hand, but she didn't want an excuse for him to look at her openly.

When the end of class finally arrived, Hermione threw her things into her bag and left the class, leaving Ron and Harry behind – Malfoy was looking a lot like he wanted to talk to her.

Instead of taking her regular route past the library, Hermione turned the other way and headed for the upstairs girls' bathroom. She caught a glimpse of blonde behind her but quickly lost it as students filled the hall.

She reached the bathroom in less than a minute, having memorized the way from her second year. She was safe here. He wouldn't find her.

One of the stalls creaked open just as Hermione dropped her bag onto the floor.

"Dra— oh, it's you," said Moaning Myrtle with an air or disappointment.

Hermione didn't know who Moaning Myrtle was expecting to see. No one visited this bathroom _ever_ because of her.

"Yes, it's me. Who did you think it was?" she asked, leaning against the door.

"Certainly not you."

"You can leave if –"

She was suddenly flung off door when it opened abruptly behind her.

"Talking to yourself, Granger?"

Malfoy closed the door slowly and turned the lock. He stood with one hand held against it, smirking.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What are you –?"

"Hi, Draco," said Moaning Myrtle, smiling a smile Hermione had only seen her give Harry in her second year.

Malfoy's lips twitched upwards almost into a ghost of a smile and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Will you give us some time? Alone?" he asked politely, eyes flicking to where Hermione was standing.

Moaning Myrtle eyed Hermione apprehensively but silently obliged and jumped into the nearest toilet. Hermione stared at him in bewilderment.

"I didn't know you and Moaning Myrtle were on speaking terms," she said with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

"I'm on speaking terms with a lot of people that you don't know about," said Malfoy. He held up a hand to silence her. "But we aren't here to discuss that."

"Actually, we're not here to discuss anything."

"_Actually_, we are. _Accio wand_!"

Hermione's wand flew into Malfoy's hand and he stowed it into his robes.

"Can't make that mistake twice," he said amusedly. "Now, back to business."

"Just spit it out, Malfoy."

He ignored her.

"You did the potion without me," he said flatly.

"Congratulations for noticing," said Hermione impatiently. "Do you want a trophy or –?"

"It was supposed to be a partner assignment."

"Another award winning observation."

Malfoy dismissed her trying sarcasm. "Why didn't you let me do anything?"

Hermione gave him a disdainful look.

"Well," she said, crossing her arms, "you didn't look like you _wanted_ to do anything and I thought –"

"I didn't look like I wanted to do anything?" said Malfoy jeeringly. "Not even when I wasn't able to leave you alone?"

Blood rushed to her cheeks. So he heard. And remembered. The only thing that could, that would follow would be him making a great big deal out of it, and now that he had her wand, she would have to stand there and take everything he says.

Hermione looked to the ground. "I just –"

"Oh, save the theatrics," said Malfoy. "You were avoiding me."

"Yeah? So what if I was?" countered Hermione hotly.

"That's hardly fair, now it is? How can I do my follow up essay now?"

So now he was going to play the _everything-is-your-fault_ card, when it wasn't her fault at all.

"Then you really should have made an effort to set up a date!" she said angrily.

He looked at her like she was a piece of garbage that was in his way.

"I should have?" His voice echoed through the empty bathroom. "You were the one doing it behind my back."

"Maybe, then, you should have stuck around after ..."

They were back to _that_ subject. Hermione couldn't figure out the words to say. What was she supposed to say?

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "After?"

"After you _attacked_ me," said Hermione, for lack of a better word. She took a shuddery breath and kept a steely glare on him. It was a bad, no, _horrible _choice of words and she should have realized.

"I attacked you," he repeated slowly.

She stood her ground. "I mean, that's exactly what you –"

Malfoy took five quick steps and grabbed her arm, shaking her violently.

"Don't stand there and pretend that you didn't like it," he snarled. He lowered his face to hers. "You filthy little Mudblood probably loved my hands all over you."

"You are _so_ full of –"

The words were barely out of her mouth when he kissed her hard. Using his height advantage, Malfoy pushed them back until Hermione slammed against the wall. Within seconds, he pulled back an inch, just hovering over her.

"How did you like that, Mudblood?" he panted.

Hermione exhaled slowly. "It was horrible."

Malfoy sneered and his lips attacked hers again, more forceful this time. For a just a fraction of a second, Hermione was determined to resist him. The thought was readily cast aside when he nipped her bottom lip and deepened the kiss.

"How about now?" His lips traveled down Hermione's neck, gently sucking at a spot that made her arch off the wall into him.

"Just, _oh_, awful," she breathed, pulling him back and kissing him hungrily.

His hands released their grip on her arm and traveled down her body, over the curve of her hips and around back to tug on the waistband of her skirt. With a quick jerk, the fabric fell to the floor, leaving Hermione in her knickers. She barely had a chance to register his movements when his hand brushed against her inner thigh and then caressed her in between her thighs with his palm, squeezing gently. He kissed her again and trailed down to ravish her neck.

Hermione stood against the wall, her hands clenching on his shoulders to keep her from collapsing. Her heart was racing and she knew that this would be the moment to stop. She should not be here. She should be in the Gryffindor common room, yelling at Ron and his big mouth. Yet, she couldn't pry away and when Malfoy's finger rubbed her against the fabric of her underwear, she knew she was a goner.

Ron who?

She never knew fingers could do such magic. This was nothing like she had ever experienced. With Viktor, it was shy, a fumbling mess, and an awkward aftermath that led them to decide her to decide they were better off as friends. But this, _this_, she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of him against her, the raw desire building up in her core, the way his struggling breath tickled her ear, this was –

"Despicable!" A sharp, high-pitched cry broke through the air. "My eyes, my _eyes_!"

Hermione was prepared to disregard the disturbance, but she knew they were fully interrupted when Malfoy stumbled back, breathing hard, and glared at the culprit: Moaning Myrtle, floating senselessly above the bathroom stalls. He looked thoroughly annoyed and the air of politeness he had towards he before was gone.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Adultery! Sins! Oh, poor me," wailed Moaning Myrtle.

"If you haven't noticed, we're not of age."

Moaning Myrtle's eyes widened at his hostility and glared at Hermione, pinning her for the source of the problem.

"_You_. Just how many boys do you plan on bringing here?" she said in an accusing tone.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably and her cheeks flared. "Sorry, Myrtle, I didn't –"

"Oh, here we go again," said Moaning Myrtle. "You didn't _think_, you didn't _know_, blah – blah – _blah_! Nobody _ever_ thinks about Moaning Myrtle, do they? People think they can just use this bathroom as they please, always bringing boys in to do naughty, naughty things."

Hermione looked at her skirt lying on the floor. Moaning Myrtle was going to ruin it. It was this same bathroom she and Viktor had come after the Yule Ball because it was empty and she didn't know where else go.

"What is she talking about?" said Malfoy confusedly, looking to and from both girls.

"Oh." Moaning Myrtle's face broke into a devilish grin. "She didn't tell you that there were more –"

"More?"

"– boys."

"Boys?" Malfoy turned his head to Hermione. "What is this?"

"Oh, Draco, it was really horrible," said the ghost. "They would come in here and do all sorts of dirty things, breaking all sorts of rules. It was –"

"Shut up, Moaning Myrtle!" snapped Hermione.

Moaning Myrtle did, but the damage was done.

Malfoy was seething. "You…"

"Mal—Draco," said Hermione quietly, opting for the more personal name. "It wasn't like that. She's making it sound worse than it was."

"So you're saying that she's lying?"

"No but –"

"Then who?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Who was it?"

"That's hardly –"

Moaning Myrtle swooped down in between them and circled Malfoy slowly.

"There were her friends, Harry Potter and the red-head Ron Weasley –"

"_No!_" said Hermione, looking pleadingly at Malfoy.

"– and that big one Viktor…Viktor…"

"Krum?" he finished for her bitterly.

"Yes!" Moaning Myrtle said happily.

His face was twisted in disgust and Hermione shuffled as far back as she could. She couldn't believe that at one point, she actually told Harry and Ron to be nice to Moaning Myrtle. She actually felt sorry for the ghost, dying at such a young age and being tormented and confined in a stinky bathroom. It turns out Moaning Myrtle deserved every bit of unpleasantness she ever got.

"No," said Hermione fiercely. "No, that's not –"

"Is that why they keep you around, Granger?" said Malfoy, spitting out her name like a poison.

"W – what?"

"I always wondered," he continued, fixing his shirt and hair, "why they bothered with you, but now it's clear."

Hermione shook her head. How could he believe Moaning Myrtle? Harry and Ron? That was sick.

"It makes sense now. Why else would Saint Potter, half-blood but famous and pureblood Weasley stick with you?"

"No," choked Hermione. "It's not like that!"

"Shut up, you little slut!"

Tears stung at Hermione's eyes. He had to let her explain. It wasn't like that. She wasn't what he said. Hermione, Prefect, top student in her year, wasn't like that. She had standards, she had morals.

"Mal—Draco, please." She stretched out a hand to touch his arm, to make him listen.

Malfoy flinched as if he was touched with a burning iron rod and stepped back.

"Don't touch me!" he said. His hand reached into the pocket of his robes and for a second Hermione thought he was going to jinx her, but he pulled out her wand instead and flung it at her. "Stay away from me. Stay away from me."

In the blink of an eye, he threw the door open and slammed it shut again. Hermione stood, shocked and breathing hard, clutching her wand tightly in her hand. Somewhere during her conversation, Moaning Myrtle had gone. Seems fitting. Her part in ruining Hermione's life was over. She was left alone, just like she wanted. It looked like Malfoy was finally going to leave her alone. So why didn't she feel happy like she should?


	9. Chapter 9

_His hands moved down her sides and grabbed her legs. In one swift movement, he hitched them around his waist and pressed her up against the wall. Her moans echoed around the room and her fingers gripped his shoulders. His tongue travelled down her neck, leaving red, damp marks._

_"Draco…Draco…"_

Hermione sat up, drenched in sweat. Her heart was pounding furiously against her chest and she knew that, if there was enough light in the room, the dark tint of a blush on her cheeks would be displayed for the whole world to see.

On the bed beside hers, Lavender stirred.

"Hermione, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Hermione, breathing heavily.

"Nightmares again?

"Yeah."

Lavender mumbled something inaudible and fell into slumber again, leaving Hermione alone in her wake.

They weren't nightmares, per se, but she found it much easier to pass them as so than to explain why she was shaken from sleeping every night from dreams of a certain Slytherin.

It was bloody annoying how he entered her mind every time she closed her eyes. He had no business invading her private thoughts like that. She didn't even want him there. Forget how good it felt when he touched her, in real life or in her dreams – it was bloody annoying.

The wind howled against her window panes and with an air of resentment, Hermione swung her legs off the bed and slipped into her night robes. She was not going to get anymore sleep, she knew that. Perhaps with her unwanted thoughts drained, she would get some work done. Godric knew she needed to get some work done.

Her footsteps thudded against the floor. Her biggest concern was waking up one of the girls, Parvati and Lavender being the worst. It was a well known fact that those two have the mouths of a running tap. Nothing escaped their notice and once they noticed, everyone else miraculously did too. She grabbed her books on the way out and when the door closed behind her with a gentle click, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to be interrupted by soft whispering.

"Someone will see you," said a soft voice. Hermione recognized it as Ginny's.

"At this hour? No one will be up."

The second voice was much deeper, stronger, one that Hermione knew but couldn't pin on a face. It did not belong to a Gryffindor; that much was for sure. And by the nature of their whisperings, it was intimate. She felt like an intruder but there was no choice. It was either return to her dorm and risk getting caught or wait for the appropriate moment to execute her escape. Hermione chose the latter.

She flattened herself against the wall and listened intently for her window of opportunity.

"You're up," said Ginny. "I'm up."

"Yes and unless one of your Gryffindor pals is sneaking around with another Slytherin, I highly doubt it."

Hermione's eyes widened.

_Slytherin._

The list of any male in the Slytherin house scrolled through her head. She was careful to avoid a certain name.

"Not so loud!" Ginny hissed. Hermione could picture the fiery look on her face. "What if someone hears?"

There was a chuckle. Then, "At this hour? No one will be up."

"You know," Ginny sighed, "you really are a pain in the arse."

There was a hint of teasing in Ginny's voice that made Hermione dread what she thought was going to happen next. It was like this with her and Malfoy. The bickering, the back and forth insults, light-hearted or not, the sudden proximity in their passionate anger, the…

"Yes, but you love it."

And there, she knew it. Hermione was sure that there was no distance between Ginny and the mystery man now. She felt dirty, like she was intruding on something that she should be staying far, far away from. Yet, she couldn't move. Not now anyway. Not when the Weasley girl and God-knows-who had all ears open for any movement.

To her relief, the – what she assumed was – kiss was over in a second.

"Mm," said Ginny dreamily. "Are you going back to your dorm now?"

"Where else?"

The sound of padding feet across the floor resonated the common room and Hermione quickly straightened up. He, whoever he was, was leaving. This was her chance – the sound of her feet would be lost. If she didn't go, Ginny would find her there and know that she was there, listening.

For some reason, she knew that being found out by Ginny was bad. If Ginny purposely chose to hide this relationship, then it was no business of Hermione's to have eavesdropped; accident or not. And though she knew that if Harry or Ron, or her pre-Malfoy self found out about this, feelings of betrayal would definitely arise, she felt the opposite. Perhaps it was because she could relate to the hidden secrets her friend was keeping. Perhaps it was because she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in so long. Perhaps it was some other totally logical reason that she didn't have the energy to think of at the moment. It didn't matter. What mattered was she had to get back to her room in the seconds she had left of distraction. And she did.

Her feet climbed the stairs hastily, taking two at a time. She was at the second last step when she heard the exchange of goodbye.

"Good night, Weasley."

She grabbed the door handle, and flung it open.

Ginny's giggle was barely audible. "Sleep tight –"

Hermione threw herself into the pitch black darkness of her room.

"– Zabini."

The heavy doors of her dorm closed behind her with a light click, just as the sound of the portrait hole in the common room shut softly.

With uneven breaths, Hermione leaned against the cool wood and stared into nothing, eyes wide in surprise.

_Zabini._

The careful whisper of the Slytherin's last name was so quiet; Hermione didn't know how she heard it. She wished she never did.

It was strange. She wasn't anything but slightly puzzled. Of all the houses, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Hermione would never have expected for Ginny to jump into the arms – or pants – of a snake. And for it to be Blaise Zabini… she never would have guessed. In all of their Slug Club meetings, the two had never been anything but hostile towards each other.

_Much like you and Malfoy…_

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Hermione cursed her emotions for betraying her, even at a time when no one was looking. She supposed Ginny and Zabini were in a similar situation. She wondered whether they started off the same way: a heated argument, an unintentional invasion of personal space, a forbidden kiss that became like a drug.

But they were happy. At least, they sounded happy. Even in the middle of the night, hiding from all their friends, putting everything on the line, they sounded happy.

Hermione's feet unconsciously directed her to her bed. She wondered how long she had before she had to wake up again. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten. There were only a few hours left at best.

Slipping into her still-warm bed, she silently tossed the covers over her and stared at the blank ceiling. She wished that they were enchanted like the one in the Great Hall. Then, even in her moments of insomnia, there would be a worthwhile task to do. Searching the skies for the telling stories of years ago didn't sound too bad.

Despite her obvious fatigue, Hermione couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. Her mind was too jumbled now, a mixture of Ginny and Zabini, her and Malfoy, and everything in between.

She lay there for hours, hypothesizing the possible scenarios which would have brought the unlikely couple together. And, when her exhaustion finally caught up with her, she slipped into a state of slumber, wondering whether she and Malfoy would meet the same fate.

* * *

><p>If it wasn't for the constant clinking of silverware and the buzz of incessant chatter that filled the Great Hall, Hermione was sure she would have collapsed into her plate of mash potatoes right then and there.<p>

Her sleeping problem had not stopped. In fact, it had gotten worse. Not only did her dreams of Malfoy get more and more creative, her workload was finally catching up to her. No sleep, no concentration and a three-foot scroll to write every night did not fare well together.

The thing that troubled her was the intensity her dreams were reaching. Just the night before, she had been woken up, covered in sweat, with a tight clenching in her thighs, by no other than Parvati Patil. Parvati said that Hermione was _moaning_ too loud. It caused her the utmost embarrassment, and now, sitting in their house table, she could not bring herself to meet the Gryffindor twin's eyes.

What troubled her the _most_ was the fact that she had not had any interaction with Malfoy since that day in the girls' bathroom. He would always move to the opposite side of the room when she entered, she never saw the familiar head of platinum blond in the hallways, and during mealtimes, his back was always facing the Gryffindor table. His avoidance was so obvious that even Ron and Harry were riled up by it.

"That _bloke_," said Ron, jabbing his chicken leg with a fork.

Hermione lifted her head from her Arithmancy homework.

"Who?" she asked warily, already knowing the answer.

"Who else? Malfoy."

She squirmed nervously in her seat. "Ron, just drop it."

"No, I won't 'just drop it'," said Ron, glaring at the table in the far end of the room. "He is being completely out of line!"

"Ron!" said Hermione in exasperation. "Stop it!" She looked at Harry. "Make him stop."

Harry didn't look up from his Potion's book. "Hermione, the only reason I'm not saying anything right now is because I'm too busy trying to finish this essay."

"Thank you!" said Ron, patting his best friend on the back. He turned his attention to Hermione. "Listen, Hermione, I don't care how much trouble it'll get me into. Malfoy deserves a good blow to the head. Or two. Or three. Or –"

"Ron!"

"– four, or five…"

Hermione blood raced. They keep talking about him and making her think of him when she did not want to talk about him or even think about him. He was in her thoughts so often that she couldn't stand it and when there was a time he possibly wasn't, Ron and Harry were thick-headed enough to bring him back.

"Ginny," she pleaded, "help me out here."

Hermione's gaze flickered over to where the sixth-year was sitting and realized that Ginny had not been paying attention at all. Instead, her eyes were transfixed somewhere behind Hermione's head, looking dazed.

A small voice in her mind told her that she shouldn't turn around. It gave her suspicions of what, or _who_, Ginny could possibly looking at – suspicions that Hermione was almost sure of. She didn't listen. Turning her body around the bench, she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Ginny's stare.

As she had guessed, it was Zabini that was the distraction. His eyes were also dazed.

Hermione's lip tugged into a small smile of affection. It was sweet that Ginny and Zabini were so…into each other.

A wave of sadness and loneliness hit her and she determinedly pushed it away. Just as she was about to turn around, there was a flash of blonde and then, a pair of silvery eyes met hers.

Her heart stopped.

Blood rushed to her cheeks.

She wanted desperately to look away but she couldn't.

They hadn't made eye contact for long, and in the few seconds that they did, she couldn't move. Images from her dreams flashed through her head.

_His hands on her. _

Her breathing hitched and she felt a familiar stirring just below her stomach.

_Her hands on him. _

"Hermione?" Ron's voice broke through the silence. "Are you alright?"

A part of her told her to turn around and answer Ron, but the more dominant part stayed rooted to her position.

"Hermione?"

_Touching_.

"What the—"

_Feeling_.

"—devil is she—"

_Pleasing_.

Hermione stood up abruptly and tore away from Malfoy's gaze. Her knees were weak and she wanted nothing more than an icy cold shower. She piled her books into her arms and hopped over the bench, throwing an apologetic smile at Ron, Harry, and Ginny, who finally brought her attention back to the Gryffindors.

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. "What are you doing?"

"I just remembered that I have a – a … a Runes essay to translate," she said hastily, juggling the heavy load in her arms and backing away from the table.

"What?" said Ron, looking at her as if she was mad. Hermione turned around on her heel and began walking towards the doors. "Wait!" he called after her. "Where are you going?"

Hermione broke out into a slow run. "Library!" she threw over her shoulder the first thing that popped into her head. The doors approached her quickly. She broke through and gasped a gulp of air, as if she had just been drowning. Her legs felt weak and tired but she couldn't bring herself to stop walking. And she didn't.

Step by step, she marched through the halls until the smell of parchment wafted around her and the silence wasn't eerie. She gave Madam Pince a curt nod (if Madam Pince was capable of liking students, Hermione would be the number one favourite) and began counting the aisles that she passed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Her feet came to a halt. This was her favourite area in the library – the Potions section. It was secluded and students rarely visited: students rarely liked the subject.

But Hermione, she always felt she had a fondness towards the subtle art of potion-making, regardless of the professor that taught the subject. It was one of the oldest subjects and the field of study offered some of the oldest books ever to be written in the wizarding world. To her, it was fascinating.

When she trailed far enough down the aisle, she set her books on a nearby table and leaned against a book shelf, closing her eyes momentarily.

How bad in it was she that she couldn't even stay in the same giant, crowded room with him? How bad in it was she that every time she closed her eyes, he invaded her mind? Was it some wicked plan of his, to seduce Hermione Granger and distract her so that she couldn't concentrate, couldn't think?

Hermione drew a shuddery breath. She didn't need to be a genius to know that the situation was helpless, and Godric, she was going to need all the help she could get.

* * *

><p>Draco watched as Granger stalked out of the Great Hall, her skirt moving appreciatively with her. The spot just below his stomach twitched and he swivelled back to face Zabini with self-disgust.<p>

The dark wizard was still concentrated on something beyond him.

Draco reached over and snapped his fingers.

"What were you looking at?" he asked when the attention was back on him.

Something indefinable flickered in Zabini's eyes before he said, "Nothing."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's likely."

Zabini's eyes focused suddenly on him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his dark eyes calculating.

"_Nothing_," said Draco, smirking. He watched as Zabini scoffed and returned to his meal.

In the short weeks since his first encounter with Granger, Draco found himself to be in the presence of another magical being that he did no expect. Zabini had always irked him so and Draco didn't know what compelled him befriend the other wizard, but he did. At least he was a better, more educated company than Crabbe and Goyle. They were almost friends.

The truth was that he was also on to Zabini. Draco had caught him sneaking into their dorm last night, and a couple of nights before. At first, it was no big deal. So the fellow Slytherin was getting some. So what? That was until Draco had woken up one night to find him entangled around a certain red-head in the common room.

How Zabini managed to sneak the Weasley in was beyond him. It was common knowledge that the only people that had ever stepped past their portrait-hole were Slytherins. And yet, the Gryffindor had entered, and Draco assumed on multiple occasions, without a scratch.

The idea of their being together was still a shock to Draco. He always knew that Zabini found Ginny Weasley attractive, as did many other male students, but he never would have guessed that anything would have been acted upon it. It was hard to get a grasp on it.

He was always under the impression that Gryffindors and Slytherins were supposed to hate each other – natural born enemies. And there stood Weaslette and Zabini, living proof against the same principal. And him and Granger… they were close enough to proof against it. He wondered how many more of his fellow students were in the same situation, hidden and consumed with passion.

His head hurt.

The pumpkin pasty on his plate never looked less appealing. He pushed the plate away noisily, ignoring the small rumbling in his stomach that begged for food. Draco gathered his robes and stood up from his seat.

Zabini's eyes snapped towards him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To bed," said Draco simply, stepping over the bench.

"Really," said the other wizard in amusement.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sod off."

Without waiting a reply, he made his way out of the Great Hall. Each step he took increased the pounding in his head and when the heavy doors closed behind him, leaving him in silence, he stumbled against it. Going to bed hadn't been his intention when he said it, but after leaning against the door for some much-needed support, Draco decided that anywhere else would become the death of him.

* * *

><p><em>Hot, throaty moans filled his ear and Draco groaned, kissing her fervently. He felt her hands grip his arms, then his waist, then slide around the planes of his stomach. His need heightened. With a quick rip, the only fabrics left between them tore away and he relished in her heat. She writhed against him and just the feel over her skin against his length almost sent him over the edge.<em>

_"I can't wait much longer," he whispered into her ear. His fingers reached down and brushed her most sensitive spot, then entered her in one smooth movement. She whimpered and bucked against his hand, trying to feel more._

_A single nod on her part told him just what he wanted to know. Positioning himself over her, he kissed her full on the mouth and thrust into her. Pure bliss._

Draco sat up straight and stared into the darkness.

_Fuck_.

His hardness under the sheets taunted at him, aching for something he shouldn't – couldn't – want.

He was trying. He avoided her in the halls, in class, at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner and it still wasn't enough. Damn it, he was trying _so_ hard to rid her from his thoughts but he couldn't. He fucking couldn't no matter how hard he tried. Salazar knew how hard he was trying.

Beside him, Crabbe snored loudly. Draco looked to his right. Zabini's bed was empty.

Another loud rumble filled the air and Draco had the urge to throw a pillow at Crabbe and suffocate him. Everything was getting on his nerves.

Irately, he tossed off his thin blanket and slipped on his robes. It looked to him like another sleepless night, and it was getting annoying. He wanted his sleep. He _needed_ his sleep.

His legs felt stiff under his hips and he thought of ever retched thing that came to mind. Blast-ended Skrewts. Threstals, though he couldn't see them. Newborn house-elves. The gash on his arm from Buckbeak's talons. They were of no prevail.

Draco stole once last fleeting look around the room, making sure everyone was asleep, before slipping quietly out the door. The common room was quiet, save for the gentle cackling of the fire that never went out. His favourite chair sat beside the fireplace, calling for him, but he ignored it and kept on walking. He just wanted some air. The portrait-hole opened at his arrival and Draco was greeted with a wave of coolness. His muscles loosened slightly.

He didn't know where he was supposed to go, but he knew that he wanted to keep walking. So he did. His feet moved on their own accord and Draco savoured the quietness.

He rarely experienced times like these now. Everything was so hectic, so demanding, that he never had anytime to just think. When he was younger, he used to take some time on the weekends and just reflect on the days that passed – what he did, how he did, when he did. It allowed him to catch his mistakes and improve upon them in the next week. That was what his father told him. Malfoys always succeeded. And if they didn't, they kept trying until they did. Draco lived by those words like they were gold, and that was what kept him on top.

But lately, he found that he hardly had a chance to catch his breath and too many mistakes were being made. That was his only explanation.

Familiar doors appeared around the corner; Draco had arrived at the library. He looked around the hallway and silently rejoiced in his luck. Filch usually caught any students out of bed at night and Draco was luckier than lucky to have escaped the caretaker.

The doors gave way slowly and soundlessly and he quickly slid through the crack. The sheer silence of the library calmed his nerves immediately and he began weaving through the aisles. Counting on his luck to support him for the remainder of the night, Draco dropped his foot like a ghost with each step, hoping that Madam Pince wouldn't catch him.

Books had become his resolve ever since his Granger-filled dreams started. There was just something about old Potion masters and ancient draughts that destroyed a man physically that reduced his desire to a slow smouldering, rather than the fast-burning fire that he experienced otherwise.

His feet carried him to the seventh farthest aisle, having memorized the way. Draco had one hand reaching to grab a book when he realized there was someone else there. He stumbled back and grabbed his wand.

"_Lumos_," he whispered.

He waved the pale light in front of him, once, twice.

Chocolate curls.

It took Draco only a second to register the witch sitting in front of him: Granger.

He stepped closer towards the Gryffindor. By the looks of it, she was fast asleep, her upper half splayed across the table. His first thought was how uncomfortable that position was for her, even though she was oblivious to it in her slumber. His second thought was how alluring she looked, barely moving, her shirt riding a bit over the top of her pants, revealing a sliver of fair, silky-smooth skin.

Draco gulped slowly and felt a wave of loathing mixed with a more powerful craving. He couldn't. He _wouldn't_. Yet he stayed rooted to the spot.

He blamed her. This was obviously some Muggle form of seduction he was not familiar with. There was no way she could be that appealing to him without some sort of outside help. There was no way anyone could be that appealing to him without some sort of outside help. It was just not possible. Draco was composed. He had self-control. He did not lose all logic for any witch, much less a Mudbl— Muggle-born.

He couldn't.

With a final lingering glance towards her, he spun on his heels and made towards the exit.

He was half-way into his fourth step when it happened: a single, feminine moan, and then, "Draco."

He stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around.

Granger looked as delicious as she did moments before, but was still asleep.

Had he imagined it?

The enticing sound was still ringing in his ears. It was quiet and if it hadn't been his name, the one thing he had been hearing his entire life, he would have dismissed it. But it was.

Unthinkingly, his foot inched forward. Granger was at rest, slumped over the table just as he had left her seconds ago. Maybe it was all in his head. Why would she have said his name in the first place? It was ridiculous.

Draco took a slow breath and cursed himself. He was going mad. She was driving him to insanity.

And then it happened again.

Granger moaned in the darkness and sighed. "_Draco_."

It was so raw, so real, and it ignited the fire in his stomach again. Images from his dreams flitted through his mind and he grasped the near-by bookshelf for support.

Was she dreaming of him too?

_No_.

He _couldn't_.

There still had to be some self-respect left within him, some self-control. He was just desperate for sex. A quick fix with Astoria would restore his logic.

His insides curled at the thought of being with Astoria. As gorgeous as she may be, all her beauty was shadowed the moment she opened her mouth. But she was safe. Draco knew what would happen if he was found to be harbouring any feelings other than pure-hatred towards Granger. He couldn't risk it. It was a mistake that would cause his demise. As much as he wanted to, and _Merlin_, staring at her now, he really, _really_ wanted to, he simply couldn't.

Draco felt like he was teetering on a thin rope suspended in the air. He would fall if he wobbled either way – towards her to away from her.

He _couldn't_.

Decision made, he slowly backed away from the temping witch before he changed his mind. Draco was so lost in concentration that he didn't notice a stack of books piled taller than his own height behind it. His back hit it and it toppled to the floor, a great thud echoing the atmosphere.

In front of him, Granger jumped and looked around nervously. Her eyes were fogged from her sleep and her hair was unruly, framing her face in a jumble.

Granger blinked twice and seemed to become aware of her surroundings.

"Malfoy," she breathed in surprise with the just-awaken hoarseness in her voice that sent shivers down his spine, ending in the spot just between his hips.

There was something about the way that she looked that tore all good sense away from Draco. She looked too fucking appealing for him to just walk away now. He took a few steps forward, and with each stride, he listed a new reason why he should just take her then and there. He won his own argument by the third step.

To hell with mistakes. From all the shit he was put through this year, he at least deserved something that he wanted. And_ fuck_, he wanted her too much.

Draco's lip turned upwards when her eyes widened in surprise at his proximity. Her cheeks flushed a delicious shade of scarlet and her breathing became ragged. It took Draco all of his power to keep poised, standing a mere few inches in front of her.

"Dreaming of me, Granger?" he said, smirking down at her.

He wanted her too much, but he'd be damned if he let her know that.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay a couple of things here:<strong>

**1. HAPPY TURKEY DAY to all my fellow igloo-housed polar bear riders c:.**

**2. SORRY FOR BEING SUPER LATE. **

**3. Thank you SO MUCH to those who reviewed, favourited and put this story on alert. I don't even know how to convey my feelings into words :')**

**and lastly, I actually really liked writing this chapter and had extra fun writing the end. I think it's like half a cliff-hanger but that's just me. **

**Please pleaseeee review and all that good stuff and I promise I'll try to update faster next time! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**Little note at the end, with apologies and all that! Happy reading x**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

She must've been dreaming. That was Hermione's conclusion: a dream within a dream. How else could she have woken up to him standing in front of her?

Blood roared in her ears. She felt disoriented. She wasn't in her bed and she wasn't in the common room, the place she fell asleep the most. There was a painful crick in her neck that told her that she had fallen asleep in an extremely uncomfortable position. It wasn't a surprise to her that she had fallen asleep in the first place. She had been so tired lately that she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if she passed out in the middle of an earthquake. She had come to the library in hopes of getting any one of her essays completed, but that plan was thrown completely out the window now. There was no way she would be able to hand in any of her essays on time.

On top of that, none of her exhaustion had worn off with any of the sleep she had gotten. In fact, she felt more and more tired as the days dragged on. Her moment with Malfoy was no help to that at all. She was beginning to think of him beyond her sleep. Just that morning, she missed almost an entire half of a lesson because he had been fiddling with his quill. She found his hands too distracting for her own good. She caught glimpses of him every now and then, chatting with Blaise, eating with Crabbe and Goyle, or flirting with just about any girl in the halls. Not once did he meet her eyes again.

That prick was the source of all her problems and she absolutely hated him for it. She hated that his hands were so distracting and that her eyes couldn't stop wandering over to him. And he was indifferent to it. And she hated that the most.

"What, Granger?" Malfoy smirked. "Winded at the sight of me?"

Hermione glared at him. "Only in your wildest dreams."

"Any dreams with you in it would be a nightmare, I assure you."

Her cheeks flared. Whether the insult was ill-intended or not didn't matter to her. _Shouldn't _matter to her. When did she begin to care so much about what Malfoy thought about her anyway? "Well then, I assure you that I was not winded at the sight of you."

"You're only lying to yourself, you know."

"Am I?" She hoped that he didn't hear the waver at the end. She also hated that he probably knew her better than Ron or Harry without even knowing it.

Malfoy shrugged and then turned serious.

"What are you doing here?" he said, watching her intently.

"I was reading," said Hermione irately, grabbing her books. She was desperate to leave. "And now, I'm leaving."

"No, you were _sleeping_."

She inhaled through her nose and closed her eyes. He was pressing her buttons and she knew it. He knew that she knew that he was pressing her buttons. Prick. "Then I fell asleep."

"Then you should have said that, you—"

Hermione jumped up and slammed her books onto the table. She didn't care that her hair-elastic snapped. Or that her fingers were caught underneath the books and now throbbed painfully. Or that she was probably giving him exactly what he wanted by reacting to his goading. She was hungry and frustrated and bloody tired and all three were successfully caused someway by him.

"You what?" she snapped. "Filthy Mudblood? Stupid little Gryffindor? Say what you want, Malfoy, but I don't care anymore."

She picked up the books from the table and stuffed them into her bag. She was angry, so angry. She was angry at Harry and Ron for being unbelievably annoying and constantly bothering her about helping them with their work. She was angry at Malfoy for being unbelievably annoying by just being himself. She was angry at herself for being so angry in the first place and for even getting herself in this mess anyway. And despite all that, she _still_ couldn't stop thinking about him and wanting him. And that made her even angrier.

"What are you doing?" asked Malfoy.

"I am getting away from you," Hermione replied, hastily pushing in her chair on turning on her heel.

"No, I'm not done with you."

Hermione took a deep breath. _Just keep walking_.

"Granger!"

_Don't stop_.

"For fuck's sake! You'd think that a slut like you would stop a—"

In a split second, her rationality broke. Everything she had been holding in since the beginning of term rushed into her veins and her vision turned red. She spun around and whipped out her wand.

"_Stupefy_!"

Blue sparks flew out of Hermione's wand, and across the room, Malfoy flung from of his stance across the room. His foot caught onto the end of a shelf and sent the books nearest the edge airborne. For a three fluttering heartbeats, there was silence. Then, there was a loud thud as Malfoy landed an old, battered, couch, followed by small clunks of landing books. He laid there unmoving.

Hermione took in three heaving gulps of air before the reality of her situation hit her. She stood in shock and stared in horror in his direction. There was a small tiny part of her, probably the same part that broke her rationality, that told her she was still dreaming. Or maybe if she wasn't dreaming, she ought to leave him there.

She quickly abandoned the thought. Even if it was Malfoy, she didn't have the heart. Hell, it could've been Bellatrix laying there on the couch and she still would've felt the need to go check up on her.

_Oh God, oh God_.

She didn't know what happened to her. He had just made her so unbelievably furious. It paralleled the same feeling she had a while ago in their third year. The result was her giving Malfoy a good dent in the face. But this time it was different. She could've seriously hurt him, and not just his ego. And then again, she wondered why she cared so much.

She wasn't even sure why she cared so much. The obvious reasons she knew, of course – if he was badly hurt, it would be a lot more than detentions for her. Other than that though…she was clueless. If she was really honest with herself, it was pretty obvious she cared a little too much. Without even putting much calculation into it, Hermione was sure that her sixth year interactions with Malfoy was much greater than all of her other years combined. How much more intimate the interactions were didn't make anything better.

A part of her wondered why she cared so much that she cared. So what? She was fully capable and allowed to care about whoever she wanted.

_But Malfoy_…

It was Malfoy, wasn't it? Him in his green robes and haunting grey eyes. That was the problem. Had it been anyone else, hell, maybe even Cormac, Hermione would not be having this problem right now. No one else would be capable of pushing her buttons until she exploded, but it was still the same. There were too many things that set them apart. Blood-status, house, beliefs, friends… And then, past all of that, there were their similarities. She wasn't sure what they were, and truthfully she was scared to start listing them, but they were there. They had to be, or else she didn't know what she was doing.

Her feet moved themselves and inched across the room. It was as if she was having a silent argument with herself in her head. She couldn't justify what she had done _or_ what she was doing now. It was her Gryffindor senses, she decided. She couldn't just leave him there.

_I just need to see that he's okay_. _And then I'll leave_.

The promise sounded empty in her head, but it was better than nothing.

Malfoy was still lying across the couch, but with the small slivers of moonlight shining from the windows, Hermione could see that he was breathing – faintly, but still breathing. It was like a huge weight had been lifting off her shoulders and she felt her pace quicken.

Ten more steps and she hovered over him. She stared at him, strewn across the couch, and felt her chest squeeze. Slowly, she lowered herself onto her knees and planted her hands against the edge of the cushion for support. Her movements were minimal, as if she was scared that any sudden outburst would break him.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione reached out a hand and brushed the hair away from his face. There was a slight cut just above his left eyebrow and when her finger grazed over the wound, his eyes snapped open.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She didn't dare move, and, from the looks of it, neither did he. There was an unreadable emotion in his eyes and it scared her to death. His eyes were never unreadable, even when his face remained slow seconds passed and it felt like an eternity. Finally, the silence broke her.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice cracked.

There was no reply but his eyes fixated on her.

"Are you – are you alright?"

Another slow second passed.

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest. Then, Malfoy offered a low grunt.

It felt like a million weights fell off her shoulders. She let out a shaky breath of relief, but didn't move.

_I just need to see that he's okay_. _And then I'll …_

And then what? Her mind was blank and he was still staring at her.

An eternity passed. Then, "Granger…"

She felt like a cornered rabbit staring into the eyes of a fox. Even if Malfoy was seriously injured, he still held power over her. And at that moment, she felt vulnerable. Pathetic.

Her reason and logic flooded back into her mind. She blinked once, twice, her eyes flickering over his face one more time before raising herself into a standing position.

He was okay and now she was leaving.

The sound of her shoes against the wooden floors was drowned by her frantic heartbeat.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Draco woke alone in the library. He laid sprawled across a sofa with little recollection of the night before. A beam of sunlight peeped through the windows of the library, burning his eyes. He shifted his position and almost passed out in pain. The painful throbbing started from his back and ebbed to every part of his body. He had never experienced anything like it. It was unbearable.

He groaned. What had he done to deserve this? Something stupid, no doubt. Then again, he had been doing stupid things for a while now. He flipped through the blurry images of the night before. All he could remember was that he couldn't sleep. And then what?

The more he tried to remember, the more he couldn't remember and the more his head hurt. Wonderful.

His odd positioning felt uncomfortable and he pushed himself upright. All at once, blood rushed to his head and his vision was blinded. Draco leaned against the back of the couch, ignoring the sharp pain that occurred as he did so, and waited to be able to see again.

His surroundings slowly came back to him. Draco looked around. The library seemed fine; he deducted that he hadn't gotten into a serious fight, else there would have been a terrible mess. He was still alive, which meant the obvious fact that he hadn't been killed. But if it hadn't been that... Then what?

He sounded fucking pathetic, was his next thought. The first thing that comes to mind was fights with Death Eaters or death itself. He almost felt like Potter, calling Voldemort left and right.

A smirk tugged at his lips. It always felt better to take a stab at Potter. Or any of the Weasleys. Or definitely Longbottom. Lovegood. Abbott. Finnigan. Thomas. Granger.

A wave of pain hit him. Draco winced in pain. His sharp intake of breath resonated through the large, empty room. Before his echo died down, another filled its place.

"Who's there?"

Madam Pince. He was not in the mood to deal with her again. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Before he could stop himself, Draco let out a groan. As soon as he had done so, he cursed himself aloud for being so stupid. And then he cursed himself again, this time silently.

"Now I know you're here."

Ignoring the painful throbbing coursing through his veins, Draco carefully slid off the couch onto the cold wooden floor. Great. Each movement he made stirred a new soreness in his body and by the time he reached the great doors of the library, he was practically twitching with pain. What happened to him?

He quietly slipped through the doors into the empty corridor outside. It couldn't have been too late in the morning. There were no students or teachers roaming this hallway and he couldn't hear any noise beyond his own breathing.

Draco slumped against the cool stone wall. The rough, jagged surface of it rubbed against his bruised back and he quickly leaned away. He debated his next step.

He knew that the best place for him to be was the infirmary. There was no way he'd be able to endure a whole day of lessons with this amount of pain. Besides, if he was lucky, he would miss Defence Against the Dark Arts and Snape all together. But what was he to tell Madam Pomfrey? He had a feeling she would get all motherly-concerned and summon Dumbledore at once. Which could only lead to trouble. And Snape. And Draco was not in the mood to deal with neither motherly-concerns, Dumbledore, trouble nor Snape.

He made a frustrated grunting sound and rocked on his heels. His back hit the wall again, and this time he made no move to change positions.

Despite his distaste for visiting the infirmary, he had no intention of heading back to his room yet. He could just hear Blaise firing questions at him. How was he to answer questions he didn't know the answers to?

Draco stood upright and began making his way down the empty hall. He was still unsure where he would go, but he figured that he would know sooner or later. Within three steps, his head burst into a frenzy of pain. He grabbed his forehead in an effort to subdue it. It felt wet and soft. When he pulled his hand away, it was smeared with dark red.

Shit.

Turning on his heel, Draco headed the opposite direction to the infirmary. He rubbed his blood-stained fingers against his trousers quickly. Well he'd be needing another pair of those.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He entered the Potions classroom halfway into the lesson. The note from Madam Pomfrey was clutched in one hand, while the other held a small bottle of Pain-away. His eyes roamed across the class and saw Granger sitting with her back to him, scribbling notes on her book.

"Sir," he said to the professor, keeping his eyes on the Gryffindor. Her head lifted, but didn't turn back.

"Ah Mr Malfoy." Slughorn gestured for him to take a seat.

Draco ducked his head and trudged to the table that he shared with Pansy. She automatically shifted her book over so that they could both share. He stole another glance at Granger, who was still indifferent towards his arrival. Which was why Slytherin girls were far more superior than those in Gryffindor. Not that he was taking the time to compare.

"What are we doing?" He nudged Pansy with his elbow. Slughorn's incessant yapping droned on.

Pansy pointed her quill at the top of the page. "We're at- Draco." Her voice shook.

He turned his head to look at her concern-filled eyes. "What?"

"Your forehead," said Pansy, a little more loudly than necessary. Her eyes brows wrinkled. "You're hurt."

Before Draco could get a word out, Granger yelped. Followed by Weasley's angry voice.

"Hermione you got ink all over my notes!"

Draco glanced over to see Granger frantically tidying up paper and Weasley trying to mop up the ink with a piece of parchment. They both seemed to have forgotten that they have magical abilities. She threw a look over her shoulder and their eyes met immediately. As quick as it had come, Granger looked away and returned to cleaning up the mess. Her hands shook.

He watched her for a couple more seconds before turning back to copying his own notes. For the rest of the class, Granger didn't move her gaze from Slughorn and sat in a way that Draco couldn't even see her profile. When the lesson ended, she almost tripped over Seamus Finnigan's chair just as Pansy began fussing over Draco's injuries again. Then, she was out the door.

Draco walked down the hallway towards the common room with Pansy. The corridor was packed with students leaving from their lessons but there wasn't a bushy brown head bobbing amongst the crowd anywhere in sight. His eyes scanned the sea of students without seeing anything. She had gotten away. Fast.

The wheels were turning quickly in his head. Could it be… Draco shook his head adamantly. No, Granger wouldn't. With a last fleeting look amongst the crowd, he followed Pansy down the hall. It wasn't Granger. Absolutely not.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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A/N: Well yeah. SOOOOOOOOOO sorry about the wait! It's been like... how long? a couple of months? Ukjdhgjsdgh i don't even know how to explain myself. I just got a HUGE writer's block but my love for Dramione finally prevailed! Hope this chapter is okay, seriously.

Plus, i wanna thank everyone who reads this story and continues to read it! and every who put it on alert and favourited it and reviewed it and honestly you don't even know how much that means to me! i'm forever grateful!

so i promise i'll upload sooner and hopefully you continue to read this fic and review!

oh and happy new years!


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